Black Webs
by xoeternalflamexo
Summary: Lydia Martin didn't believe in last season's trends or shoes that did not make her look at least six inches taller, but she did believe in Spiderman; New York City's resident hero. One cataclysmic night changes everything and she gets swept into the madness of his world and falls in love with someone nobody would ever have thought she would be with. {Stydia Spiderman! AU}
1. Paint The Town Red & Blue

**Author's Note: This is my first Stydia fanfiction so it won't be the best Stydia fic you've ever read but hopefully I've done the characters justice. I know the Spiderman Stydia headcanon is extremely popular, and I'm sure other writers have written it too, but I've put my own fun little twist on it but I don't want to give anything away so you let me know what you think. P.S Please review!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Teen Wolf characters no matter how much I wish I did sometimes. I have no affiliation with the TV show whatsoever so all rights go to them. This is written purely for fun. Enjoy.**

* * *

Lydia

Lydia admired her reflection in the bathroom's full-length mirror, fabricated to perfection; or at least as near to it as the human appearance ever got. She broke into a diamond grin, only to notice that there was cherry lipstick imprinted on her two front teeth, she quickly rolled her tongue over them to wipe off the stain. _Must look fabulous at all times._ It was something she told herself to get through the day. Lydia had always felt better when she looked better, ever since she was a little girl, her mother would dress her up all pretty in satin gowns and pink posies. It had always made her feel like a princess from one of the countless fairytales her parents used to read to her when she was young.

When she was finally satisfied, she took a step back and patted down the beige mini-skirt she was wearing, to get rid of a humiliating crease in the fabric. She looked to be on point. Her eye-shadow glimmered something gold, like powdered sunlight. Her cheeks were rosy as ever, and the classic red of her plump lips complimented the stark emerald of her eyes. Her strawberry blonde locks had been carefully weaved into a crown braid, and to any passer bys; Lydia was the picture of poise and confidence. Only Lydia could see the deep seated imperfections embedded in her features: the shadows under her eyes she covered up with an abundance of concealer, the fading scar just under her chin that she'd earned when she'd fallen off her bicycle when she was seven and had to get stitches, the pallid hue of her skin that she veiled with all the blush, even the pumps she wore to make herself feel better about her midget-like height. The bell sounded out, loud and buzzing, jarring Lydia out of her contemplation.

"Come on, Lydia," she mumbled to herself under her breath. "Time to play Ice Queen."

She stalked out of the bathroom, chin up, eyes shining, and heels clanking - all the way to first period. Lydia didn't mean to act like a complete bitch, but she'd learned a long time ago the ways of the world, she knew that playing nice never got nobody anywhere. Lydia played dumb with the boys because that's how girls got the things they wanted these days, by pretending to be inferior and stupid. Lydia pretended to be the gossip queen when it came to girls because whether or not that was what she truly was, the girls that surrounded her were already passing judgments about her. It was okay, though, she'd become an expert at fooling the world. Her facade was indestructible. Lydia pushed past the thronging crowds of the seemingly never-ending school hallway as she made her way to AP History. The teacher hadn't arrived yet, and most of her peers were already here, staring impatiently at the big, red clock above the whiteboard, perhaps praying for the fifteen-minute rule. Lydia saw that some mousy looking brunette with fat glasses was perched on her desk.

All Lydia had to do was clear her throat and shoot the poor girl a look and she was already stumbling out of her seat, racing to lift up all her belongings in both arms rather clumsily; before hurrying towards the back of the class. Lydia was so used to treating people like this that it quite frankly didn't even bother her as much anymore. She simply shrugged and took a seat, leaning over to pull out a pink ink pen with fluffy feathers at the top and her notepad.

Lydia had been doodling subconsciously when their teacher, Ms. Valentine, strolled in. The lady was clad in a black jumpsuit, with her frizzy dark hair tied into a hopeless bun, she was chewing irritably at the back of a pencil and her tiny glasses looked as if they were about to fall off the bridge of her nose. "Morning, Class," she murmured. "There's much, much, much to do today!"

Lydia sighed, Ms. Valentine had a habit of over-caffeinating before class. She was rather unsurprised when Ms. Valentine blurted out the chapters they were about to study, Lydia had already sifted through everything she'd named: twice. She yanked her phone out of her pocket, her eyes darting towards her rambling teacher, just to double check, before she began texting. She ignored most of the messages she got, until a particular caught her eye. She couldn't help but grin slightly at who it was from.

From: Aiden  
Hey Lyd. My place 2night. Parents on ski trip. ;)

Lydia wasn't sure what it was that she had going on with Aiden, per say, considering that he'd started out as just a random boy she was having fun with. After her last serious boyfriend, Jackson Whittemore had abruptly taken off to England and broken things off between them, it had been a summer of numerous, harmless flings. Her situation with Aiden was a bit more complicated than simply friends-with-benefits though, there was something more to it, or there could be - she wasn't quite sure she was willing to embrace it though, especially not after how things had ended with Jackson.

Despite that, Lydia couldn't really refuse a pleasurable evening in.

To: Aiden  
Can't wait. I'll bring the wine.

When Lydia looked up from her phone screen, the class had been interrupted by some late comer. Ms. Valentine had her arms crossed over her chest. "Stiles Stilinski," she sounded exasperated. "Funny to see you here so early. I was expecting you at the end of class." Lydia's gaze fell on the boy she was speaking to. Lydia knew him, even if she always forgot his name. Stiles broke into a sheepish grin as he scratched the back of his head. Lydia almost scoffed at his appearance. There were people like her, who spent hours perfecting their appearance before showing up at school, and then there were people like Stiles Whateverski, who rushed out of their homes without even running a comb through their hair. Stiles was clad in his signature plaid - a checkered blue and red shirt, with a white undershirt. His jeans looked washed up, like the last time they'd probably seen the inside of a washing machine was two years ago. The kid's hair was disheveled, and his hazel eyes caught the sunlight from the big windows on the other side of the class, making him squint as he sauntered in, book bag hanging so lose off his right shoulder that Lydia wondered if it was going to fall off, shoelaces untied, and lugging two fat books with his other hand. "Sorry," he muttered apologetically. "Darn that Monday morning traffic, right?"

Ms. Valentine looked like she wasn't going to be able to conjure the strength to argue so she simply scoffed it off and began continuing from wherever she'd left off. Stiles seated himself right behind her, like he almost always did. It was funny how he always managed to bag that seat, considering he was almost always late. Suddenly, she felt an abrupt slam against the back of her chair and she whirled around in her seat, glaring at Stiles with the wrath of a dozen pissed off Aztec Gods. He'd rammed his desk right into her chair. Stiles winced like her gaze was carving holes into his chest. " _Reeaally_ didn't mean to do that," he muttered, his fingers already drumming against his desk, rather frantically. "I -" Lydia raised a palm up to shun him, and he was cut off midsentence, his mouth hanging half open, awkwardly, before he carefully closed it.

"Don't bother with petty excuses," she snapped. "Just don't slam your desk into me again."

She turned back to face her teacher again, even though she could feel his steady gaze on her back. Lydia always felt like he was eyeing her when she wasn't looking, she'd even caught the boy on multiple occasions. If a simple gaze could leave a mark on a person, Stiles had left several on her. He had this stupid school-boy crush on her, she knew about it, everybody in school knew about it, she was quite certain Obama knew about it. He made it so blatantly obvious that it was almost pitiful, really. Perhaps it was cute that he thought he really had a chance with her, but the spastic boy was nothing but an annoyance. Before Lydia's thoughts began drifting furthermore, she tuned back into what her teacher was saying. "This does, surprisingly, have significance in today's world, especially when it comes to real-life superheroes," Ms. Valentine continued. Lydia's ears perked up instantly, her mind already predicting who Ms. Valentine was going to talk about. It seemed in New York City these days, as if nobody could go a single day without talking about him.

"This morning itself," Ms. Valentine explained, grabbing the remote off her table and switching on some local news channel, where they were already going on about New York's resident vigilante. "Spiderman was spotted swinging across the city, saving our people as he always does. He rescued a child from a burning building, kept a group of bandits from robbing City Bank, and spotted and caught a fugitive who had only recently made it to FBI's most wanted list." Ms. Valentine had this twinkle in her eye as she muttered on about him. Of course Lydia knew Spiderman, or well, she knew _of_ him. Everybody did. He was first spotted last spring, Lydia remembered being so fascinated by the incognito clad in the strange spandex suit. It had enlightened that hopeless, idealistic part of herself that she'd always pretended didn't exist.

Ms. Valentine turned off the television, but Lydia's mind was already taking off again. She'd always wanted to see Spiderman in person, she'd only ever looked at him on television or in pictures on magazines. Sometimes she refused to believe he was even real, because he seemed to appear to everybody but her. There were so many kids in class who went on about that one awesome time Spiderman had showed up in front of their very eyes. Lydia's best friend, Allison Argent, had, in fact, begun a Spiderman fan club (she even sold Spiderman merch including caps, t-shirts, coffee mugs, lunch boxes - you name it!) after that one time Spiderman had simply brushed past her during an attack at a local mall. Funny thing was, her fan club idea was apparently brilliant, considering that over half the population of their school was now a part of it. Swiftly, it was becoming the most popular school club there was.

"It was absolutely breathtaking, Lydia," she recalled Allison remarking. "I could just feel him, you know? I think we've got some kind of a connection, I swear I could feel the vibes radiating off of him! And you can't tell from that masked suit, but I'm pretty sure he smiled at me!"

How much of this was a delusional lie in Allison's head and how much of this was actually hard fact was up for debate.

It was when the bell rang once more and Lydia quickly realized that the lecture was over that she shook herself out of her reverie. She groaned silently as she stood up and began loading her things back into her bag, she had a feeling it was going to be a long day. She found herself glancing at the dulling skies outside of her classroom window, momentarily caught up in the way the chunky ashen clouds shifted. It was going to be a long day, and it was only first period.

xxxxx

"Earth to Lydia," Allison was snapping her fingers in front of Lydia's face.

She jerked back a little in surprise as she focused on her friend's miffed expression. She was a little mad at herself for daydreaming so much, she usually kept her swelling thoughts to a bare minimum. It was lunch hour, and they sat alone at the table adjacent to the so-called 'popular' table, she often preferred just eating with her best friend, although she did sometimes have to bounce from table to table to keep up appearances. The cafeteria was alive with the incessant babbling of dozens of kids her age, and the intermingling smells of ketchup and deodorant were beginning to give her a headache. Lydia blinked, before swiftly covering her mistake up with an easy grin and a believable lie.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about Aiden," Allison cocked her head to the side.

"Aren't you guys like a thing?" Lydia considered this, before nodding no.

"That's exactly it. I don't know where we stand. We haven't exactly defined the relationship." Allison nodded her head, like this was the most interesting piece of information she'd heard all day.

"Latest update?" Lydia shrugged. "He called me over to his place tonight. His parents are out of town." Allison broke into a roguish smirk, "Oh. You know what that means," Lydia nodded swiftly. "Honey, of course. How can a girl refuse to fine wine and a fine boy?" Allison grinned, only her mirth was short lived, Lydia noticed the girl stiffen up as something at the entrance of the cafeteria had caught her eye.

When Lydia turned around to peer at what she was looking at, she realized that it wasn't just something, more like a pair of things. Scott McCall, the resident newbie and lacrosse jock, was making his way towards the cafeteria, and not further than a few steps behind was his shadow, Stiles Stilinski. The two were just as inseparable as they were insufferable. Wherever Scott went, Stiles was sure to follow. Kind of like a loyal puppy. Allison had this weird thing going on with Scott, Lydia had a feeling she was falling for the doofus.

Scott was cute, sort of, if one was into the whole dimpled, dark haired awkward boy thing. Lydia glanced at her friend once more, she wasn't quite sure what Allison's type was, but she felt like the girl could do better. Allison was beautiful, she had dark eyes and brunette hair that she'd recently cut so their tips brushed against her collarbone. She dressed competently and had heads turning all the time. Scott just wasn't good enough for her, but Lydia was a supportive friend. "You still into him, aren't you?" Allison looked appalled. "I never told you that," Lydia rolled her eyes. "I've got an IQ over 170, Allison. I can fathom a crush." Allison was one of the only people in the school who saw through her dumb girl routine. The girls didn't have any secrets between each other. The brunette blushed, her cheeks suddenly the color of beet root. "You think it's stupid," she intoned. Lydia took the last bite of her sandwich. "Whatever floats your boat."

The McCall boy and his best friend paused right by their table, Scott looked as if he was building up the courage to say something while Stiles simply hanged back anxiously, tapping his foot against the floor. "Hey Allison," Lydia tried not to scoff at the stuttering boy, but when she stole a glance at her best friend, Allison looked like she was enthralled. _Adorable, blind adolescent love_ , Lydia thought. "Hey, Scott. What's up?" Scott's lower lip was quivering, and he was still clearly fumbling for the right thing to say. Stiles nudged him in the foot and Scott staggered, before quickly regaining his balance. "I know this is last minute and you probably have a date already, I mean why wouldn't you have a date already? You're gorgeous! Uh... Point is, I was just, I mean, I was wondering if you don't have a date maybe we could go to the Spring Formal together?" Lydia stifled a laugh, but Allison was already grinning from ear-to-ear. "Nobody's asked me yet," she said. "I'd love to go with you." Scott's entire face lit up like a Christmas tree, "Really? Awesome! I mean..." he lowered his high pitch. "Cool." Allison laughed, and Scott began walking away after that, rather swiftly. Stiles for once, didn't follow. He was scratching his neck, and his gaze was riveted on her.

"So, Lydia," he began. "In the spirit of new beginnings would you like to -" Lydia cut him off for the second time that day. "No thanks." Stiles sighed, "Right." He murmured under his breath as he shuffled away. Allison looked almost sheepish. "You should go easy on him. He's had a crush on you, since like, the third grade," Lydia shrugged nonchalantly.

"And I've had better taste, since like, forever."

xxxxx

"I'm sorry babe," Aiden began. "My parents are gonna be back earlier than I'd planned."

Lydia took a deep breath and let it out, her tone rather bored simply to cloak her disappointment. "We could still do something. How does dinner sound?" There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line before Aiden responded. "That sounds great. We can go to that new Italian place that's opened down my block." He sounded rather astonished that she wanted to go on what was implied an actual date. "Perfect. Eight sounds good?" She could practically picture him smiling as he responded,

"Absolutely."

When she cut the phone, she actually felt positive about a relationship after what felt like a long time. She wasn't sure where they were headed as an item, but she wanted to find out. Lydia glanced at time. She was laying around rather lazily in her bedroom after school, but she hadn't realized how the time had passed. It was almost seven by now. It was time to get ready.

While she began getting dressed, she turned on the television so that she could check out the news. Lydia wouldn't admit it to anyone, but she sometimes stalked Spiderman whenever she was about to step out of the house, so that maybe she could catch sight of him for once. She always followed Twitter updates from his fans about recent sightings, scoped out YouTube for unseen footage, she even had a blog dedicated to him and her thoughts about him. One day she would discover her mystery man in the red and blue suit. "There's been some strange happenings going on around town, Travis," the reporter lady on the television announced. "Apparently there have been multiple sightings of a man on fire," the reporter explained.

"Here's some interesting footage," The television screen blanked out before they broadcasted a camcorder tape. The footage wasn't clear but what Lydia could make out was a fiery outline of a man in encroaching darkness. The kid who was taking the footage was screaming something in German (one of the few languages Lydia didn't expert in, unfortunately), before the tape ended. Lydia wanted to watch more, but a knock sounded at her door and she instantly flipped off the television.

"Come in!" She called out. She still hadn't picked out an outfit for the evening, but she always made time for a little chat with Mummy Dearest. Her mother strolled in, shutting the door behind her as she seated herself at the edge of Lydia's bed. Her mother was a beautiful woman, Lydia loved the way her gentle eyes crinkled when she smiled, and she always felt at home in the secure embrace of her mother's arms on lonely nights. "Does my little girl have a date?" She quizzed playfully, her eyes sparkling. Lydia couldn't help but chuckle, her mother's jocular mood was infectious. "We'll see." She responded rather cryptically. "Well, don't blow it, alright? Go get him, and if he doesn't reciprocate, it's his loss," Lydia thought about Aiden and the way he'd always attempted to awaken something more than just lust and sexual desire in their relationship. "I don't think we've got to worry about reciprocation," she mulled silently. Her mother sighed, the grin dissipating like a dark cloud was hanging overhead. "Lydia, your father's coming to visit for the weekend."

Lydia's father was a slightly sensitive subject. She ached for the days when her family was regular and happy, recently, her parents had decided that they needed to spend some time away from each other, but Lydia knew that was a euphemism for "we're getting separated". She wasn't really awaiting the day that separation turned into a divorce. "Say it with more enthusiasm, mom," she mocked sarcastically, noting the way her mother changed on a dime at the mere thought of her husband. "I'm sorry, Lydia. Everything will be alright. We just need time. You don't worry, okay? Have fun on your date." Lydia watched wordlessly as her mother turned around and left, gently closing the door behind her to give Lydia her privacy. She hated when people said that everything would be alright, because usually when people said something like that, absolutely nothing was truly alright. Yet another wonderfully mordant trait of human nature.

"We lie to ourselves more than we lie to anyone," Lydia murmured to herself before she emptied her mind, to fill it with average teenage girl thoughts like what she was going to wear.

After minutes of ransacking her closet, Lydia picked out the perfect outfit. It was a rather fitting emerald dress that brought out the color of her eyes. It fell just a little above her knees. It was plain - so it wasn't trying too hard, yet the royal fabric and the rather provocative cut signaled she was trying enough. She had a green velvet coat to top it off with and black stilettos that would complete the look. She left her strawberry blonde curls hanging loose and only when she was done with the makeup did she bother glancing at the time. Lydia gasped when she realized it was already 8.20 pm. There was being fashionably late, and then there was being obnoxiously late - what if Aiden had already left the restaurant? What if he thought she'd stood him up?

Lydia raced out of the house, grabbing her car keys off the kitchen counter while at it. Lydia's blue Toyota awaited her in the parking lot. Once in, she jabbed the keys into the ignition and the engine whirred to life, she stabbed at the breaks, heading off into the night. She was driving in dangerously high heels again, her mother would've killed her if she knew, but Lydia didn't care. She was used to it by now. She wouldn't be caught dead any other way. Plus, it was absolutely beneficial for a lady to be able to drive like a boss in six inch heels. As per Lydia, high heels were valuable in a number of ways: to looker taller and more poised, to stab someone's eyeballs out, to be the cherry on top (or in the bottom) of every fabulous outfit ever. Lydia hadn't wasted any time, and she reached her destination in under five minutes despite the perpetual New York evening traffic. She parked her car in the lot of the Italian restaurant, Giovanni's.

It wasn't until she'd gotten out of the car that she'd realized how crisp and chilly the air had gotten. She tugged at the collar of her jade green coat, pulling it closer to her neck. The sky was starless tonight, as most smoggy city skies often were. Clouds were gathering above head, a puffy ring of overcast circled the crescent moon, so it looked like the moon was wearing a hula hoop. Lydia quickly pushed past the stretching line of people and made it towards the reception. The receptionist looked rather swamped, but Lydia called out to her anyway, standing awfully close to a man seemingly in his mid-forties who was arguing with her. "I understand, sir, but we're -" Lydia tapped the lady on the shoulder. "Hi, um - reservation for two? Perhaps under the name Martin?"

The receptionist skirted her once before sifting through her records and nodding curtly. "Step right in."

Lydia sighed in relief as she pushed past the double doors and into the extravagant restaurant. For a new place, it was doing quite well considering the snaking line outside. The interiors were rather magnificent as well. It was adorned with golden lanterns, showpieces and sparkling fountains. Lydia noticed that one of the fountains was in the shape of a baby angel, it's expression impish and its little hands shot upward in an offering position. It held a metallic lily in its palms from which water was spurting into the crystal pool beneath it and forming marvelous ripples. The lanterns and dim lighting of the ambiance had bathed the area in yellow light. The smells of good cooked food wafted through and Lydia instantly knew that this was a great place for a date - extremely romantic. She spotted her date at the far end of the room, near a large circular window that overlooked the parking lot. It would have been more preferable if the window had been overlooking a mystical garden or something, the rocky pavement of the parking lot did nothing but remind her of stark realities; but she wasn't exactly in the position to complain. Aiden looked great today, he wore a form fitting black t-shirt and dark jeans to go with, his blond hair looked slightly damp, like maybe he'd recently taken a shower. He smelt like expensive cologne. He shot off his chair so quickly at the sight of her that she had to stifle a laugh, he broke into that immensely attractive half-smile thing that boys often did.

"Glad to finally make your acquaintance, Miss Martin," he said dramatically. "I was starting to believe you were gonna be a no show." Lydia shot him a sheepish smile as she pulled off her coat and hung it on her chair before taking a seat. "I was caught in traffic," she bluffed.

It was one of the perks of living in a city like New York - one could blame everything on the traffic. Aiden narrowed his eyes like he didn't really believe her, but he let it drop. "So what do you feel like? Something cheesy?" Aiden questioned, handing her the menu. Lydia bit her lip, "Literally or figuratively?" Aiden met her eyes, something intensely playful shining in his own.

"Both."

Once they'd placed their orders, Lydia watched Aiden carefully as he was staring down at his phone screen, probably texting somebody. She was over Jackson, at this point, she had to be. No matter how difficult it was to let go of his memory, she knew she was holding on to a ghost. Jackson was gone. Probably living it up in London somewhere. He probably already had some super hot, blonde, accented girlfriend with washboard abs and a piercing on her tongue. It was time to move on. She wasn't sure if her little infatuation with Aiden would develop into anything more than it was, but she was on this date and that was progress. She was giving it a shot. She couldn't remain glued to the same place she'd always been in. Aiden looked up from his phone, catching her staring, and Lydia blushed. "I'm glad you asked me for dinner," Aiden muttered rather softly.

"I was beginning to think things were going nowhere between us." Lydia nodded slowly, "I know. Honestly, I wasn't sure we were going anywhere either. I... I'm still not. But I wanted to give it a try, you know?" Aiden's expression hardened. "Is that what this is to you?" He questioned. "Just a trial round?"

Lydia frowned, leaning back in her chair, rather miffed by his sudden unease. "Because I've already gone through that, Lyd," he muttered. "Tons of times." Lydia sighed, maybe he was right. Maybe she just wasn't meant for relationships, for love. For how long was she going to lead him on? Aiden's expression seemed to soften again, perhaps he was sensing her own unease. "Look - I like you, Lyd. I want for us to be together. I want it to be serious. But I want you to feel the same way about me and so far? It all feels rather one-sided." Lydia knitted her eyebrows, her expression opaque. "Are you kidding me? We're always making out, Aiden. We're always -" Aiden didn't let her finish. "I'm not talking about it like that. I'm talking emotionally. It always seems like you're present here with me physically, but your mind's somewhere else. Like... You're always so out of it these days." Lydia shook her head, suddenly feeling this wave of fatigue wash over her. Maybe this date hadn't been the best idea after all.

She opened her mouth to say something, but her words were drowned out by the sudden clamor of shattering glass and screaming people. Lydia's head jerked up so fast she was almost sure she'd strained a vein in her neck. "What's happening?"

That was when she heard the gunshots.

It wasn't like she hadn't heard gunshots before, or well, it was kind of like that considering she hadn't heard them in real life, but she was well versed to what they sounded like. They were loud, swift, sharp - the reverberation was heavy, terrible. Aiden was already up on his feet, and Lydia was close to follow. He stood protectively in front of her, even though he was shaking himself. "We - We've gotta get outta here!" He shouted above all the noise.

People were running, fleeing, Lydia wanted to do the same, but somehow her legs wouldn't work and she was frozen in place.

All around her was chaos. People crying, wailing, dying, even. Her vision was blurring, and she could hear her heartbeat roaring in her ears. Her stomach was flipping. She'd seen stuff like this happen on the news all the time, but no matter how much television she had watched, nothing could have prepared her for the real thing. It was the kind of fiasco one could never even fathom happening to themselves. Maybe now that was what she was going to be - just another story on the news. She felt Aiden's eyes widen as he yanked at her arm before swiftly turning around and darting away. If Lydia hadn't been so utterly shell-shocked, she would've slapped him before he'd dashed off for leaving her to fend for herself like that. She couldn't do that. She couldn't even move a limb. It was the kind of panic that swallowed one whole, the kind of panic that somehow shut off one's brain and all their vital functions, leaving one catatonic. Lydia used the only weapon she had: her voice.

She screamed. As loud as her vocal chords allowed her to go. The triumph was short lived, she felt shards of glass raining everywhere like tiny, dagger-like diamonds. Then there was a hand smacked across her mouth. She struggled against the grip of her assailant, until she felt a barrel of a gun at her back and stiffened. Hot breath like a serpent's danced against the skin under her ear, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. "Struggle again and I shoot," the voice was rigid, and she wasn't able to tell whether it belonged to a man or a woman. She was however, able to tell that their voice was deep. Lydia could have done countless things, she could have kicked him in the shin with her high heels, or swiftly turned around and headbutted him so hard that the gun was knocked right out of his hand. But she was too afraid of that gun against her spine. If she did any of those things, there was a chance he would shoot. She didn't know why he hadn't killed her yet, but she wasn't willing to find out anytime soon as long as he kept it that way.

If he was, in fact - a _he_ in the first place.

That was when things started to get really scary. Most of the people inside the restaurant had already either cleared out or gotten captured or killed outside. Lydia couldn't quite tell. A few victims were cowering underneath tables or hiding behind decor. The beautiful ambiance had been cut through with an invisible blade and like an open wound, destruction and debris was pouring out. All the candles enclosing them had been blown out by what seemed to be a sudden gust of wind. That was when a masked man came into view. He stood mighty above the crumpling wreckage, and he wore a black hoodie and black pants. By his height and build, he seemed to be the size of a wrestler. He wore a grotesque mask, painted with the features of a smiling demon. It was when he raised both palms in the air that Lydia began resisting against the one who held her again.

"Stop wasting time. Kill her already." The masked man directed.

It was now or never. Lydia kicked her assailant in the shins as she'd planned, she heard a gunshot go off, but she didn't feel the impact of a bullet. Instead, there was this insane gust of wind again, and she was hurtling backwards, she felt her skull crack against a hard surface, and then she felt warm blood trickling down her forehead. Her entire body ached like she'd been run over by a steamroller.

Lydia was starting to black out when she suddenly felt a firm arm grip her waist, and instantaneously she was propelled upwards. Her vision kept shifting in and out of focus, as if someone was turning the lights on and off or bad television reception. "Hey, whoa," the voice said. "Stay with me now!" She felt a hand brushing her hair back slightly, away from her eyes. Even her hair was damp from the sticky blood.

It was only when Lydia's vision cleared again that she recognized the familiar mask - not the creepy ghoulish one of the man who'd called for her death, but the famous red and blue that belonged to Spiderman. Her eyes almost popped out of her head. It was him. It was really, truly him.

Hope blossomed inside her chest as they sailed through the winds, cool night air slapping at her face. Lydia had to bury her head in his chest, and her clutch tightened around his neck. She didn't want to look down. She didn't want to see. It was weird, how comforted she felt in the embrace of a stranger. Even if that stranger happened to be the city's one true hero. "Brace yourself," Spiderman muttered and for one, awful, heart racing second - he let go of her and her grip loosened so she was falling, falling downwards. This was it. Her hero wasn't going to be able to save her. She was going to die.

Only a second later, she felt him grab onto her again. Her nails dug into the material of his suit at the nape of his neck and she squeezed her eyes shut once again. A few more agonizing seconds later, she felt her knees buckle and they stumbled onto a concrete surface. She almost tripped on her heels as her eyes fluttered open once more. "Sorry," he said. "I haven't gotten the whole landing thing quite figured out yet," he admitted. Spiderman was holding the back of his neck with both hands, already backing away quite swiftly. She drank in the boy in the strangely well-fitted suit. She'd met him; she'd finally met him and he'd saved her life. It had only taken a massive head wound and escaping the clutches of literal death to experience it, but it was truly a dream come true. "I've gotta go" he said as he continued to back away. "Got a psychotic wind machine to stop. Stay safe, okay? Get out of here and go home."

 _Psychotic wind machine_. In the back of her mind - a thought formed, a thought as improbable as her hero saving her from imminent death. That masked man had somehow blasted her with drafts of wind. It... It wasn't even fathomable. Lydia stared with her mouth hanging open as Spiderman shot a web that spiraled up towards the roof of the now derelict Giovanni's and disappeared through a window. _Get out of here and go home._ Was that something he often told the people he saved? Lydia blinked; finally realizing where Spiderman had 'dropped her off'. She was standing on a sidewalk across the road from the Giovanni's, and she could hear police sirens sounding out all around her. A uniformed man dashed towards her, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and gently touching her wrist. "You alright, Miss?"

Lydia couldn't answer. It wasn't the inexorable pain that throbbed against her skull. It wasn't the catatonic shock again. More like a gradual realization that there was something that was truly familiar about Spiderman. Something that went beyond what she'd gauged from stalking him occasionally.

This was the sort of familiarity that told her that Spiderman was somebody that she knew.


	2. To Wish Impossible Things

_"There's a ghost upon the moor tonight,_  
 _now it's in our house,_  
 _but when you walked into the room just then,_  
 _it's like the sun came out."_

* * *

Stiles

It was all playing out in his head again.

 _There stood a man in a daunting mask, his hands were like magic. With a lift of a palm he could create unimaginable blasts of air. His webs had contained the monstrosity of a man temporarily, but the man had escaped. He'd managed to catch his fellow assistant, though. His dad told him that the fugitive wasn't talking. He might've been useless. And the masked man? He was still at large. So were these other supernatural weirdoes like the man on fire and the ice lady. It was like a bad Fantastic Four movie come to life and he didn't like it. How would he beat genetic mutations that were somehow able to control the elements? He'd gotten bit by a spider. He hadn't walked through fire._

Then, of course, there were the better thoughts that wouldn't leave his mind.

 _Her green eyes were wide as windows. He'd never seen Lydia Martin, the Lydia Martin he knew, so helpless, so vulnerable, so afraid. Her ambusher's bullet missed. Her forehead was bleeding, the gash looked deep. Stiles had so badly wanted nothing more than to take her to the hospital right then, his heart had almost beat out of his chest when he'd caught sight of her. He usually avoided her as Spiderman, because wherever there was Spiderman, there was danger. He didn't want to put her in danger. He so wanted nothing more than to crush his lips to hers as he sneaked an arm around her waist and swung her right out the window and away from the bad guys, away from any more harm. The wind whipped her strawberry blonde locks back, in the stark blue of night they looked like fiery tendrils lightening her delicate features. She looked beautiful, even in that state she did. There was raw beauty to her features, one which he couldn't really explain. He'd almost died when she'd buried her face into his chest, her nose pressed against his heart. When he'd left her to safety, he hadn't wanted to walk away. He wanted to ask her if she was okay. He really wanted to. He couldn't, though. He was just doing a vigilante's job. He was a stranger to her. Nothing more._

Stiles flinched as he pushed himself out of his self-destructive thoughts and peeled his suit off to examine the damage. He groaned as he glanced in the bathroom mirror at the long, purple and black bruise that ran up his side. At least it was a bruise that could be obscured. On most days, that was Stiles' biggest concern: the discernable damage caused to his features. There was a bruise under his eye too, from when a shard of glass had wedged itself in his skin. Stiles touched it lightly with his forefinger, and grimaced at the stinging sensation.

How was he going to explain this one to his father? Stiles yanked open a cabinet and began to apply some ointment on his bruises. Once he was done, he popped a pain killer just to get rid of the body ache.

Some days were worse than others, this day had been particularly rough. He'd spent the better part of his day in that suit. Speaking of which... He examined the damn thing, he'd ought to make at least a couple more. This one was already beginning to smell like sweat and dust. Stiles tossed the suit in his private washing machine and examined the back of his mask. There were tiny, almost imperceptible little holes from when Lydia had dug her nails into the fabric, almost - only almost, tearing through it to touch his skin. He sighed, tossing that too, into the washing machine and strolling out of his bathroom in a comfortable t-shirt and pants.

After the day he'd had, all he needed to really do was rest. Perhaps, for like, a year. He couldn't quite just yet, though. His father would be home from work any minute and he had to make him something quick to eat. Mr. John Stilinski had earned up quite the reputation in New York City, and was now working with the NYPD. It was rather ironic, Stiles thought, that he was a vigilante and his father was a cop. Of course, Stiles hadn't always been Spiderman. It had all started about ten months ago, when he'd gotten bit by a seemingly harmless spider. He'd had to adapt fast after the Green Goblin came to town, threatening to destroy all he held dear. He wasn't sure how or when exactly he'd gotten so used to being Spiderman, to living this archaic hero, to bringing him to life. It had all just sort of... happened.

Stiles' new way of life was dangerous, thrilling and it often landed him a lot closer to death than he'd have preferred, but at this point - he wouldn't give it up for the world. Before Spiderman, Stiles had just been a nobody, some random kid who was socially awkward and bad at math and always disappointed his father. He was still all of those things, but at least he had another identity to live for now. Stiles had always been intrigued by the crap that went on in his city, the crime rate in New York had always been fluctuating at crazy levels, and Stiles would often visit his dad at work and sneak his way into classified work files just to curb his curiousness.

Stiles groaned again as he made his way to the kitchen, stretching to get rid of a kink in his neck. He raided the kitchen to find something swift yet edible for his dad to eat, and ended up settling with Instant Noodles, the healthier variety. He was heating them up in the microwave when the bell sounded out. "Right on time," Stiles murmured as he rushed over and opened the door. His father stood in his office uniform, his hair mussed up and his eyes bleary.

"Rough day?" Stiles questioned as he let his dad in and shut the door gently behind him. "Isn't it always?" His father echoed as Stiles dashed into the kitchen, grabbed a fork and handed him a cup of hot, steaming noodles. "I bet you didn't eat," Mr. Stilinski frowned, "I was thinking I'd just have the leftovers from that Burger King dinner last night," Stiles shot his dad a warning look.

"No way dad," he began. "Now say it with me. _Cholesterol? Bad_."

He emphasized on both words as if he was speaking to a child, just to make a point. Mr. Stilinski rolled his eyes, "Sometimes I forget which one of us is the parent."

Stiles raised his arms up in surrender, "Just tryna keep you alive, Pops."

"Maybe I'll die forgetting what junk food tastes like," Mr. Stilinski muttered indignantly, but he began scoffing down the noodles anyway. Stiles was about to hit the bed when his father stopped him in his tracks. "What happened to your face, son?" Stiles bit his tongue. He was so, so close. Victory was only a few steps away, but Stiles couldn't ignore his father.

"Got into a fight at school. It's nothing."

Mr. Stilinski's features were colored in worry. He always got that Mother Hen look in his eyes everytime Stiles waved off one of his many injuries. It broke him, but Stiles knew that revealing his double life as the city's One Man Justice League would break him even more, perhaps beyond mending. Stiles wouldn't take that risk. Not a chance.

"Who did this?" His father's tone was dangerously calm.

"I told you, dad. It's nothing - really. Just broke a fight between two stupid kids. Chill. Okay? I'm really tired, I'm gonna hit the snooze button. Night, Pops. Don't forget to take your meds."

He didn't wait for a response after that, and he didn't even bother looking at his father. He bit down the sharp ache in his throat as he swallowed. He simply sauntered into his bedroom, slammed the door shut behind him, and collapsed into bed.

xxxxx

It was exhilarating.

Maybe that was why Stiles loved it so much. He swung from roof to roof. It felt like he was flying. He could feel it all... The blood pumping in his veins, the adrenaline coursing through every nerve in his body, his heart pounding so hard inside his chest that it almost hurt; but in a good way. Spiderman landed upon an ashen skyscraper's roof and crouched down, watching the sun rise. That particular skyscraper was one that he visited almost every day, the building had been abandoned after a recent fire so nobody came up there, and the view was magnificent. He could see the Chrysler building and the Empire State building from up there. Underneath were energetic city streets practically crackling with life.

It was the hub of civilization and it was marvelous. It reminded him of how huge the world was, it reminded him of how insignificant his own problems were when compared to the sparkling streets and the moon and the tides. The sun peeped out from behind cotton candy clouds, a magnificent, blazing ball of fire. The skies were a purplish pink, with stripes of white and azure zigzagging and cutting through them. The clouds were sparse but large. It wasn't too hot, or too cold, at least, not yet. Stiles breathed in the fresh morning air until he caught the sound of sirens. _Do your job. You can admire the view later._ Stiles aimed for a lofty tourist bus that was currently in motion, and a brilliant thread of web shot out at just the right moment. It was getting so easy to do that now. He leapt onto the bus.

Most of the tourists on the bus began snapping pictures of him like he was as much a part of New York as the monuments and the hotels and the Broadway. A lady, perhaps in her late-thirties, asked him if he could take a picture with her daughter. Stiles would've said no, but the little girl was awfully cute. She looked to be about four, she had short blonde hair tied into pigtails and was clad in an adorable pink dress. "Hey there, princess," he offered her a finger and she held on to it. He made a thumbs-up sign with his other hand and looked into the camera. When that was over, he reminded himself he had to follow the sound of the sirens. "Later folks!" Stiles called out as he shot out another web to catch up to the police vehicles. "Do visit the Madame Tussad's. Great stuff!"

He rode the winds, darting through alleyways, landing on top of cars and buses, until he finally caught up with the police vehicles. He shot a web at the hood of one of the police cars and leapt on, after which he lay down on his stomach and stuck his head near one of the windows, knocking on the glass. When the appalled police officer rolled the window down, Stiles popped his head in. "Hey guys. What are we after?" The officer traded a look with the one who was driving before turning back to gawk at him. "You've gotta hurry up. My neck's starting to ache!" He exclaimed. "Robbery. Fifth street. They got away but they couldn't have gotten far." Stiles grinned inside his mask, hoping they could hear his grin in his words. "No problemo," He popped his head back up before bringing it back down to say one more thing: "And thank you for your great service. I'll take it from here!" and dashed off, on his way to Fifth Street already. Stiles had gotten so used to chasing those average bad guys that it often even got to the point where it wasn't as elating anymore. When he finally made it, he found it was quite easy to pick out the guilty party. A shady looking grey van that just screamed 'we're probably kidnappers' was whooshing past the traffic, taking dangerously swift cuts and almost crashing into other vehicles while at it. He shot a web aimed at the side of the van and hopped on so he was clutched on to the windows.

There were four fugitives inside, wearing black outfits and beanies. The van began to pick up pace and Stiles almost lost his grip. "Okay. Now you're pissing me off," Stiles punched a hole through the window, fine powdered glass and shattered shards flew everywhere. "Guys! You've gotta work on your surreptitiousness!" He mocked. "Painfully obvious if you ask me. And really? Racing through the streets clad in black? Did you actually expect to get away with this?"

The driver, a scruffy man in his forties grunted, and the blonde chick whose window he'd broken simply smiled and pulled out a pistol. "To answer your question," she fired at him. "Yes." Stiles had quick reflexes, and he was lucky for it, considering he didn't want a hole through the head. He flung himself into the van and wrestled the girl for the pistol, misfired bullets sounded out once, twice, thrice until he grabbed it out of her hand and tossed it out the window.

That was when the driver attacked him, landing a punch in his gut. "Ow!" Spiderman muttered. "That hurt." The van was zigzagging across the road as the man desperately tried to keep an eye on the road _and_ fight off a vigilante. Spiderman punched him in the nose, headbutted him and pushed him out of the driver's seat so he could grab the steering wheel. Swiftly, he pulled onto the side of the road and within a matter of seconds, had the family of four swathed in spider webs and delivered to the police station perfectly gift-wrapped.

There was more to do, but there was always more to do. Spiderman had to get his butt to school, and he'd spent a little too long in that suit the day before, anyway. He shot a web at a skyscraper and swung through the city like some kind of Concrete Jungle Tarzan. Everytime he looked down, he saw a city full of life and possibilities, enthralled civilians and tourists watching him in awe, snapping pictures and taking videos, straining to get a glimpse at him. Some of them often double checking like they had to make sure he was real. He couldn't say he hated the attention.

Sometimes as he departed, he would wave at them, just for fun. He did it once more, just to appease his onlookers, before remembering he had a pit stop to make before he went to school.

They were out of eggs.

xxxxx

"Seven casualties," Stiles spat as they crossed the road to Beacon High.

"Aye, man. Don't beat yourself up over it. You did your best." Scott, his best friend, cajoled. Scott McCall was the only one who knew about Stiles' little secret. He knew he could trust him with absolutely anything, Scott was nothing if not loyal. Having a best friend like Scott was like having a pet dog, it would stay happy and loyal and would love you as long as you remembered to feed it. Stiles fed him by following him around school all day, just so he didn't feel inferior. "You've gotta revise your concept of that word," Stiles muttered, shaking his head in indignation as they raced up the school steps.

The morning sky was a cloudless, pale blue and the entrance of Beacon High was already buzzing with kids, the rustle of trees and sounds of distant traffic. "Aw! Come on man. I'm your moral support, it's how I thrive," Stiles considered this. "So you're like the Robin to my Batman," Scott seemed offended.

"I'm _so_ not the Robin to your Batman." Stiles halted in his tracks, his expression hardening.

"I was there last night, Scott. I could've prevented people getting killed, but I was too caught up in worry over Lydia being there -" Scott's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, and Stiles bit his tongue. He'd forgotten to mention it to Scott. "Lydia? The Ice Queen Lydia? The Lydia Martin who you've had a crush on since you could walk? The girl who somehow transforms you from a badass hero into a blithering doe-eyed emotional mess? _That_ Lydia?" Stiles rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath and placing his hands on his waist. "Do we know any other Lydia?" Scott shrugged. "I was just making sure. Dude, that's awesome! Wait. Not awesome.

Is she okay?" Stiles thought about it. Truth be told he wasn't quite sure himself. On one hand it was the closest he'd ever gotten to her, and that alone made it one of the best moments in his life. He could still picture it all when he closed his eyes. Her gorgeous green eyes gazing at him in utter awe, the way her hair smelt like strawberries and wind, the softness of her skin, like crushed velvet or warm paper. He had to snap himself out of it - even if the memory was real, it wasn't Stiles Stilinski who she was looking at, it was Spiderman - the great hero. Everybody looked at him like that. Today, Lydia would still see through Stiles like he wasn't even there. She would again brush off his advances as if he was just some dirt that was stuck to her shoe. It was pointless. And thanks to his idiotic crush, people had died.

"I've gotta work harder," Stiles muttered irritably. "I have to get better, faster, build more stealth." Scott rolled his eyes. "Calm down. Okay? You were fending off a lunatic wind blaster dude," Stiles nodded. "Not the ideal enemy, I know. Still, I should've been a little more focused on the task at hand and a little less focused on the look in her eyes when I saved her life." Scott smacked Stiles on the back, and he guessed it was supposed to be a consoling gesture, even if his back ached from all the exertion last night. "Love's a bitch, my friend."

"And so is Lydia," Stiles muttered under his breath as they made their way to class.

xxxxx

He couldn't help himself.

After years of pining after Lydia Martin, it had become like instinct. It was in his blood. He couldn't help himself. Merely two minutes after he'd called Lydia a bitch, he caught sight of her down the hall. He took refuge behind his own locker that was only four lockers down from hers. Stiles actually had two lockers; he'd snagged this one from an exchange student two years ago, just so he could be closer to her. It was stupid, Lydia would actually probably find it creepy, but Stiles didn't really care, at this point.

Stiles peeked his head out just slightly from behind his locker, so that she was in eye range. By the looks of her, one wouldn't be able to tell that she had almost gotten killed last night, the only give away was the bandage across her forehead, but she still managed to look absolutely stunning somehow. It had always amazed Stiles, how well that girl could carry herself, how she could be practically crumbling on the inside, but would able to hold her head high like nothing could bring her down on the outside. She was the kind of girl who could walk through hell with a smile.

She was the kind of person who could hold the weight of worlds, even if she didn't know it herself. Lydia went through a lot even if she didn't show it, but everytime life kicked her down, she raised her perky strawberry blonde head a little higher. To most people, she looked like a vacant mind, someone who probably thought about mascara and nail polish colors in the middle of a History test, but Stiles knew better. She was beautiful, and she was a genius, it was no wonder dorks like him ended up fawning over her. If only she acknowledged her own worth.

Lydia was clad in a flowery azure dress that fell by the knees and a long, cotton cardigan of a lighter shade of the same color. She had her hair tied into a messy bun, and her lips were the most prettiest shade of pink. Lydia took his breath away. No matter how long it had been since he'd begun admiring her, it always felt different somehow. Everytime he looked at Lydia, it was like he was looking at her for the first time. She was like the sun, or the moon or the stars or the ocean... one could never tire of looking at her. She was Lydia freaking Martin, a whirlwind, a nightmare, a daydream. She was leaning against her locker with her arms crossed over her chest, the standard smile on her face had vanished to be replaced with a scowl. That's when Stiles noticed the guy beside her, Lydia's on-and-off boyfriend, Aiden. The tiniest flare of jealousy rose up in his chest, but he paid it no heat. They were arguing about something, Stiles couldn't really catch the words, but he could tell simply by their hand gestures and their burning eyes that they were both infuriated.

Stiles had taken a lip-reading course one, it was a handy little skill, especially for people who worked in the force or as detectives. He wasn't sure how good he was at it, but he tried anyway. He watched Aiden's lips carefully. He could either be saying, "I swear I didn't mean to run out on you," or "I swear turkey burgers are running after me," Stiles wasn't sure.

He gave up trying when the bell rang, yanking him out of his gazing session and plunging him back into the real world. He had a chemistry test he had to ace, even if he did spend the whole night doing everything but studying. He slammed his locker shut, took a deep breath, and began swiftly walking across the hall, he passed Lydia and Aiden on his way to class, but he didn't even glance in their direction. He wasn't going to get caught sneaking about her - not again.

xxxxx

"Dude!" It was Scott, sprinting to catch up to him. Stiles paused outside of Beacon Hills after a long day at school. Scott was panting by the time he finally made it to him. "Whoa, man," Stiles muttered. "You look like you're about to give birth to something. What happened?" Scott didn't even acknowledge the jab, he simply held his knees and took a deep breath, Stiles would've thought he was having a seizure if his friend didn't have a silly grin plastered to his face. "We kissed! Allison kissed me! It was like, the best day ever. I think my life's finally going somewhere." Stiles broke into a grin of his own, he couldn't help but get excited for Scott, he'd been into Allison ever since he'd laid eyes on her, and if he couldn't have a love life, he was glad Scott could.

"That's awesome! If I have to live vicariously through you, you better not screw this up." Scott laughed as they began walking towards Stiles' jeep. "I'll try not to. I still don't get how someone as hot as her would fall for a dork like me." Stiles almost chuckled at the irony of the statement, "Don't know, dude. It gives me hope though." Scott narrowed his eyes.

"With Lydia? Didn't you hear? Something happened between Aiden and her. They're done. Like, officially." Stiles frowned. " _Done?_ Like totally, completely donezo? Over? _Finito?_ " He just couldn't believe it. "Yup. And just in time for the Spring Formal, too."

Stiles felt a little hopefulness for what felt like the first time in forever, until he didn't, his shoulders sagging once more. "It doesn't matter. Lydia's got eligible hunks just lined up to date her. I wouldn't be surprised if she started a Kissing Booth." Scott shook his head, "That's why you should go steady with her before they get their chance." Stiles knitted his eyebrows, "Go steady? Who even says that anymore?" Scott shrugged. "I knew you'd chicken out, which is why I had to play matchmaker. Well, technically, Allison's going to play matchmaker. I told her to ask Lydia to take you to the dance. They're pretty tight, I think she'll actually listen."

Stiles laughed, but his laughter was stale. "Sure. Lydia Martin will make a move on _me_." Scott seemed confident, so Stiles did what any fellow friend would do, he thanked him and avoided the topic after that. Lydia didn't go for bottom-of-the-food-chain people like Stiles. In aquatic terms, Lydia was pretty much a shark and Stiles was a goldfish, sharks didn't mingle with goldfishes, and when they did - they ate them for supper. Stiles figured he had as much of a chance with Lydia as a goldfish did with a shark. Zip. Zero.

Once Stiles had dropped Scott home, he decided he wanted to make a pit stop at his father's office downtown. He needed to get his hands on some of the records the police had on the city's recent weird occurrences, and especially, on the masked man and his accomplices. He didn't have a plan as to how he was going to weasel his way into classified police records, but then again, he never did, and he almost always managed to snag them anyway. Mr. Stilinski knew about Stiles' extreme interest in murder cases and confidential police stuff, so he never wondered why Stiles hung around the station so much, which worked to Stiles' advantage.

When he pulled into the station parking lot, surprisingly, he found his father standing outside by the entrance, with another officer. Stiles jogged up to them, instantly noticing the yellow tape and the police vehicles pulling out. Mr. Stilinski caught the sight of his son, and his expression tensed. "Stiles," his voice was strained. "You shouldn't be here. It's the middle of the day." Stiles frowned, shrugging and pausing a few steps away from his dad.

"I just wanted to check in on you. Can't a loving son be worried?" Mr. Stilinski scoffed, but he didn't seem mad, simply agitated. "A loving _father_ is worried, and so I suggest you go back home, kid." Stiles narrowed his eyes, "What's going on?"

He wasn't stupid. He knew something was up. Something bad. Maybe Spiderman could make it in time to save the day. "The Chief of Department has been abducted, it is a serious concern, and the kidnapper might still be lurking." Stiles' jaw almost hit the ground like in the cartoons. He could barely believe it. It wasn't just about having the nerve to pull off something like that, getting in and out of a police station in New York was practically impossible for criminals. It was supposed to be one of the safest places in the city. "Any ideas on who did it? Security camera footage or red herrings?" Stiles questioned. Mr. Stilinski's partner, the other officer - Mr. Patel, shook his head despondently. "The security camera has been tweaked. There is footage missing. No leads as yet." Stiles felt this sudden sense of inadequacy that he had to gulp down. This was one of the many issues that he faced when it came to being a secret superhero. There were always things he missed. Even Spiderman couldn't be in every place at once. Even Spiderman made mistakes. Stiles had learnt to live with the self-doubt that came with it, there were always thoughts that struck his mind, accusations he threw at himself. Maybe he could've been more vigilant. Maybe if he hadn't made that pit stop at that gas station he would've arrived on time. Spiderman could only dwindle the damage, he couldn't prevent it. Sometimes, Spiderman was the one who found the bodies instead of the one who kept them from getting killed in the first place. Yes. He did a lot of good, but was that good enough? Stiles wasn't so sure anymore.

"Go home, kid," Mr. Stilinski repeated, scratching the back of his neck. Stiles sighed, his father looked so tense - more so than usual. The man was exhausted, worn out. He had shadows under his eyes and his hair was barely standing up straight, his forehead crinkled everytime he frowned and he was frowning perpetually these days. Stiles would never admit it to his father, but he was dead afraid that something would happen to him. He didn't have the emotional capacity to lose another parent. He simply didn't. His father meant the world to him, in fact, his father was his world. Stiles would drop the Spiderman facade in a heartbeat if something were to happen to his father. He worked on the force, though, so he was bound to risk his life continually which was difficult when his only goal was to keep his father alive and healthy. These days, Stiles wasn't sure what was going to kill him faster - the work he did, the alcohol he downed, or the stress he took on. Simply the thought of this had his stomach churning and suddenly he felt like he was going to throw up. Stiles remembered at that moment that he was prone to panic attacks. Already it felt as if someone was squeezing his lungs, ridding them of air, and his throat was constricting with pain. _NO. Not now. Not in front of him. He has enough on his plate to worry about. He doesn't need to add his disappointing brat of a son to that ever-expanding list._ So somehow, miraculously, Stiles counted to ten, took a deep breath or two, and managed to keep the panic attack from surfacing, all while keeping a neutral expression. Mr. Stilinski was staring at his son with his head cocked slightly to the side.

"You okay?" Stiles nodded vigorously, before shoving his hands into his pockets and managing a big, silly grin.

"Before I go, I was wondering if you could do your favorite son a favor," Mr. Stilinski glanced skywards, his expression returning to slightly amused nuisance.

"First of all, you're my _only_ son, and even then I'm not sure if you're my favorite. Secondly, I have told you this a bunch of times already, I cannot share my work info with you." Stiles attempted his best puppy dog look.

"Please? I won't tell a soul, I swear!" Mr. Stilinski nodded no, he wasn't going to budge, not right now, at least. "Go home, Stiles. I don't want to see you wandering about here again. Okay? You focus on getting your grades up and let the force handle the bad guys."

Stiles had to practically freeze every muscle on his face to keep from rolling his eyes at his dad's typical statement. "Maybe Spiderman will beat the force to it." Stiles muttered under his breath as he strolled back to his jeep, dejectedly. If his father wasn't going to give him what he needed, he would just have to come back later and take it himself.

Maybe Spiderman would be paying NYPD a visit very soon.

xxxxx

Somebody rang the doorbell.

Who could it be? It was only eight pm, his father wouldn't be home so soon. Stiles lifted himself off his bed where he'd been listening to Fall Out Boy songs and moping and bounded down the staircase, curiosity burning in his eyes. When he flung the door open, his heart literally skipped a beat. Stiles never understood what someone's heart skipping a beat felt like until that very moment. He had to blink a few times and rub his eyes just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Nope. She was still very much there. In the flesh. Radiant as ever. Standing at his doorstep.

Lydia Martin was standing at his doorstep.

Lydia FREAKING Martin was standing at his doorstep.

It took every bit of self control he had in him to not break into a happy dance then and there and make a complete ass of himself in front of the prettiest girl on the planet. He drank in her presence for a moment, before realizing with horrifying certainty that he was wearing a crumpled grey t-shirt and track pants. He probably smelt like coffee and Adderall since he'd taken both those substances before he'd opened that door and to top it off, he probably had bed head.

Lydia was still clad in that pretty blue dress and the matching cardigan, but she had her flaming hair down so they spilled past her shoulders in ringlets, the street lights outside turned the reddish blonde to gold. Her green eyes sparkled in the encompassing darkness, standing out like headlights on a dark, foggy night. There was a funny expression on her face, one he wasn't used to seeing on her. She seemed... nervous - awkward, even. Or maybe this all truly was a figment of his imagination and he was descending into insanity. Or maybe he'd just had too much Adderall. Either way, it was perplexing to say the least. "Hey," Stiles had attempted to sound casual, but his voice came out mousier than expected. Lydia wouldn't meet his gaze, she kept staring down at her feet like she maybe she was having a conversation with them in her head. Stiles leaned against the ajar door and raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to say something. When she finally spoke, it had probably been an entire sixty seconds of awkward, uncomfortable silence.

"This was a really bad idea, I - I should go," she began flimsily. Stiles nodded, his heart sinking. It was only when she began to turn around and walk away that he realized that Lydia Martin was actually here for whatever reason, and he wasn't going to simply let her slip by, right out of his fingertips, like every other damned time. No. This time, she had come to him, and she at least owed him an explanation as to why. "Wait," he called out. Lydia turned back on her heel, she still wouldn't meet his eyes, but he caught her blinking in surprise. He'd done something unexpected - _Good._

"Why'd you come here?" He didn't mean to sound ungrateful or unwelcoming, he was simply curious, and it was viable a question as any. "I mean," he added, to reduce tension, his fingers twitching.

"I haven't stepped into the Twilight Zone, have I?" Lydia didn't smile at his lousy attempt at humor, she did however, take another step towards him. It seemed to him like she was having an internal debate of some kind. She was obviously warring with herself over whatever she had planned to say. "I.. I'm not even entirely sure, to be honest," she began, sighing.

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. "Hate to break it to you," he muttered. "But that's not an answer." He didn't know where the sudden burst of boldness was coming from, but he didn't mind it. He liked that he was able to talk to Lydia without stuttering or blubbering or breaking into tears or a cold sweat, which were his usual go-to reflexes.

She met his eyes. He pinned the gaze there for a moment, before looking away, his eyes falling upon the darkening evening sky. A wan, gibbous moon shone bright in a starless sable blanket. "Okay. I'm just going to get on with it. Do you want to come to the Spring Formal with me?" Stiles wasn't going to lie, his heart was beginning to do cartwheels, and for a few seconds he couldn't even believe his own ears. Before he could keep it from happening, a stupid, boyish smile painted his features. It couldn't be. Could it? Had Lydia Martin just asked him out to the dance? Maybe sharks mingled with gold fish after all, defying the laws of nature and science.

Lydia bit her lip, "Gonna take that as a yes. Pick me up at nine."

Stiles wasn't sure if what had just happened was a joke or if he was suddenly a part of the reality show that played pranks on unsuspecting idiots like him. Were there hidden cameras on his front porch? Was Ashton Kutcher gonna jump out at him from the shadows and scream, _"You have been punk'd!"_ Probably not. It was simply too difficult for him to digest that the girl of his dreams, the one girl he spent every waking moment drooling over had suddenly made a move on him.

Before he could even conjure the nerve to respond, she was sauntering away, heels clinking against the pavement. Stiles watched her with enthused, overwhelmed silence. He watched her hop into Allison's car, the headlights of which flooded onto the freshly cut grass of his front lawn, painting it a yellowish white. He heard an engine buzzing, and they raced off into the night, disappearing off a curve in the road. Stiles' neighborhood was a relatively quiet one, compared to the rest of New York City, so much so that he could hear the crickets humming their pleasant melody as he stepped back in and shut the door in front of him. Maybe it was naive to wish impossible things, but in Stiles' head, Lydia showing up at his doorstep was nothing short of a miracle. And he was a person who'd got bit by a spider and gained super-human strength, he could laugh at the word _impossible._

The stupid beam was still very much on his face.

* * *

 **A/N: So? What do you think? Please, please REVIEW. I'd really appreciate feedback and constructive criticism, and to be honest it'll urge me on to write faster. Seriously. Review. I'll love you forever. And you'll get a virtual cookie! ;)**


	3. Locked Hearts And Hand Grenades

**A/N: Thank you for the positive reviews. Just a quick note, I won't keep you too long I promise. I worked on the formatting, hopefully it's better now and easier to read. Also, I got questions about Green Goblin because I mentioned him in the previous chapter, but here's the thing: he's not gonna be a part of this story. Another thing, Stiles was bitten by a radioactive spider like Peter Parker from the new Andrew Garfield Spiderman movies. I don't wanna give away the plot, but there will be a lot of supernatural or "metahumans" as they call them in the DC universe in this story, so that should be interesting. Lastly, I know there's not as much stydia in this chapter as you would've liked, but remember this is a slow burn story. Things will amp up, just stick with me & hang in there.**

 **P.S I DO READ all of your reviews and I appreciate and cry happy tears and sit there in silence literally re-reading your wonderful words like fifty times when I get one. I literally check my email for a review like 700 times a day. So please please please review! It means the world to me!**

 **Credits: This chapter contains dialogue adapted from Teen Wolf, Season 1, episode 11, "Formality".**

* * *

 _"Skin off like lightning_  
 _breathing flames from tourist trade,_  
 _your eyes go quite frightening,_  
 _you lock your gaze on to my face,_  
 _heavy eyed,_  
 _crawling on the road side,_  
 _swinging from street lights."_

* * *

Lydia

Lydia's cheeks burned as she got back into the car and they drove off.

Allison had a sort of a triumphant smirk spread across her face as they sped up. "So?" She asked, "How was it?" Lydia rolled her eyes, resting her head against the window and staring in front of her at the street lights and the gleaming rays of a dozen something tail lights. New York buzzed with electricity and life, even at night, _especially_ at night.

"Fine," Lydia mumbled, gritting her teeth. "I swear you won't regret it." She stated, and Lydia simply shrugged because she wasn't sure what to say, she wasn't sure if there was even anything to say, yet she spoke anyway.

"It's a pity date, Allison. The doe-eyed freak's been mooning all over my Prada since he first laid eyes on me."

Allison made a face. "And you don't think that's sweet?" Lydia frowned. "Creepy, sure. Sweet? Not really." Stiles was whatever, but she barely knew the kid, and she'd only asked him out because Allison had coerced her into it. Truthfully, Lydia was still pained by what Aiden had done to her, leaving her alone to die like that, right after professing his love for her - it wasn't exactly the ideal way to woo a girl.

"I got nervous," Aiden had argued. "And I swear I thought you were right behind me! I even tried to come after you again, but the building had begun to crumble at that point." Lydia had a superpower, she could spot liars instantly. Aiden was definitely lying. She recalled how his left eye had been twitching, and how he wasn't blinking enough, and how his fingers fidgeted with the ring he wore in his thumb as he spoke. She'd broken things off instantly. It was a bummer too, Aiden was a great kisser. And for a single hopeful moment, Lydia had assumed that there could've been something more between them. Lydia wasn't even remotely interested in the dance, but Allison was her best friend, and she was so confident that she would have a marvelous time with Stiles, that Lydia couldn't help but comply.

Plus, it was sort of cute, the way he'd perked up when she'd asked him out, in a dorky sort of way. "Thanks for dropping me," Lydia muttered as she got out of the car and Allison pulled out of her driveway. All Lydia really wanted to do was crash. She was already dreaming about the soft and comforting sheets of her bed when she spotted him.

It was unbelievable. Maybe she was dreaming. She had to be dreaming, right? There, up on her roof, was a speck of red and blue. Lydia's mother opened the door, but Lydia raced past her and up the staircase, all the way to her roof in one breath. Lydia slowed down as she latched open the door that led to the roof. She stepped out into the crisp night air, a blanket of blinking stars had formed up in the heavens, complimenting the silver gleam of the moon. Spiderman stood in the shadows, at the very edge of her roof, his back facing her. "I knew it," Lydia breathed, her voice low. "I knew you were somebody I'm acquainted to."

Spiderman, without turning around, mumbled, "I never said I was." Lydia crossed her arms over her chest as she gingerly closed some of the distance between them. "You're at my house, aren't you?" Spiderman chuckled lightly. "My spider senses have me tracking people within seconds, kinda like a bloodhound actually," Lydia felt a smile tug at her lips.

"Alright, stranger. I'll buy it. What's up?" Spiderman turned around, his mask shone in the dim light of the moon.

"I wanted to check on you. Make sure you were okay."

Lydia bit her lower lip like she often did when she was nervous, her stomach lurching. Spiderman was worried about _her?_ The day was just full of surprises.

"I'm fabulous. So - do you go around creepily tracking down and checking up on every person you've ever saved or am I some kind of anomaly?"

Spiderman pretended to ponder her question. "Nope," he muttered. "Certified anomaly." Lydia broke into a full-fledged grin. "I hate that mask, you know." Spiderman stepped back, seemingly offended. "Hey! Don't diss the mask!" Lydia shrugged, "I can't tell whether you're smiling or not. I can't see your eyes, or your face." Spiderman chuckled again, Lydia decided she liked the sound of his laugh.

"Hate to break it to you, but that's kind of what the mask's for. Gotta keep up the anonymity. Or," Spiderman added, as an afterthought. "Maybe I've got a wart the size of a button on my face that I'm trying to veil."

Lydia smiled momentarily, before frowning again. "Yeah, I don't get that. Why not just tell the world who you are? You're already a renowned hero. They'd probably make you rich. I mean, they already sell your action figure," Spiderman perked up at that. "Do they?" He sounded excited. Lydia laughed, "Yeah. Yeah, they do."

"That's _awesome_!" He exclaimed, enthused. "Exactly. So why don't you just take off that mask?" Spiderman scoffed. "I don't do it for the fame or the cash, and I like it this way. People would look at me differently if they knew who I was. Spiderman is perfect. I'm not a part of the world, I'm not a person. I'm just a protector." Lydia inched closer to him, if she leaned in just a little bit more, they would be close enough to touch. "You _are_ a person, Spiderman," Lydia reassured, her eyes alight with conviction. Lydia had felt the warmth of him as they'd lifted into the winds. She had felt his heart beat against her face. It had been almost as hard and fast as her own. "I felt your heartbeat. I felt you. And I don't know who you are, but I'm going to do everything I can to find out. Unless of course... You'd like to tell me yourself and avoid all of -"

Spiderman cut her off, his voice deepening. "Do not try to scope out my identity, Lydia Martin," he warned, already stepping away from her suddenly like someone had dropped a bucket of poison ivy on her and now she was coated in it.

"And don't try to find me again. Stay out of trouble. Goodbye." Lydia opened her mouth to say something, "But you..." he'd already disappeared into the night by the time she'd spoken, like he was a part of the gentle wind and the rustling trees and the lights on the street. "... came to me."

xxxxx

The Man In the Red and Blue

They call him Spiderman, but I get the sense he doesn't truly fancy that nickname. You've seen him on billboards, on the television or over the internet, perhaps you read his comic strip on The New York Times, one way or another - New York citizens cannot seem to escape him. Spiderman has become a part of this city, a feature as overwhelming and beautiful as the Empire State building itself. We live in an age of crime and war, but we also live in the age of heroes. True, stalwart, real life heroes! There's a burning question on everyone's minds now - Who is Spiderman? It's no secret that the hero doesn't want to reveal his true identity, but there's speculation everywhere. Ridiculous theories about our guardian angel posted all over the web, spreading quicker than wildfire, some think he's god sent, while others assume he's just one of us, a man who got bitten by a super spider and decided to do some good with it, others believe he works for the government. I, too, have been drowning myself in speculation, but maybe it's time I give it a rest. Spiderman has done so much for our city, the least we can do is offer him the incognito status he so desperately craves to keep. So I, the girl behind your blog, who herself remains anon, request you : Leave Spiderman alone !

Lydia sighed, flipping her laptop down and gawking up at the ceiling. Some day she'd had. She'd broken up with her coward of a boyfriend, asked out some boy who probably had a cardboard cut-out of her in his room, and had a full-fledged conversation with Spiderman - her hero, only to be told off by him and warned against ever trying to figure out his identity. She'd done what he'd asked, kept the world from going after him, well, not the world exactly, but most of her readers were very loyal to her blog and they took her word for a lot of things. That should, hopefully, make things easier for Spiderman. Somehow, she still felt the unrelenting need to find out who he was, just for herself. Lydia firmly believed that a random stranger wouldn't bother checking on her to make sure if she was doing okay, even if that random stranger happened to be the city's resident hero. Lydia didn't believe in love at first sight or instant connections, she didn't believe in anything that didn't have solid proof to back it up. She could be idealistic sometimes, but she still kept her head out of the clouds, slapping herself with the brutal connotations of reality every now and then just to gain perspective.

It wouldn't hurt if she knew. She would keep the secret if that was what he wanted, but Lydia needed a project, a distraction; she'd thought Aiden was going to play that role for her, but he obviously wasn't worth it. Spiderman was so much more interesting anyway. Lydia knew what she was going to have to do if she wanted to find out Spiderman's identity, he'd told her to stay out of danger, so she'd do the exact opposite of that, she'd throw herself into the line of fire.

 _Or we can be mature and sane and not try stupid things that can get us killed._ A voice in her head mused. _I won't get into too much trouble, I'll keep my distance, but I'll make sure I get to the scene on time._

For the next few days, Lydia kept up to the news, she had updates coming to her phone and her laptop. She even read the morning paper, just to be in sync with the headlines. Spiderman was occasionally on it, doing his usual stuff, like stopping mundane criminals and rescuing cats from trees. The city hadn't been struck by the Whirlwind again, which was what people were starting to call the man with the mystical powers to control the wind around him somehow. There was always plenty of crime in New York to keep Spiderman occupied, but nothing major had come up in the news recently. Lydia wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Most criminals, especially ones like the Whirlwind (what was with her city and nick names?) never retreated. It gave her some serious the-calm-before-the-storm vibes. Lydia had shown up at locations of petty crimes a couple of times, but Spiderman had never showed up. It wasn't like she was actively seeking him out - okay, it kind of was like that, but she didn't want him to know. Lydia was an inquisitive person, and when he'd told her he didn't want to be seeing her again, it had only amped up her curiosity to eleven.

The incessant ringing of her phone yanked her out of her thoughts, Allison was calling. "Hey," she mumbled, twirling a strand of her hair in her index finger rather absentmindedly. She was spread out on her stomach in her bedroom with her legs kicking in the air. "The Spring Formal is in four hours and I'm totally freaked! I've got to go for some emergency shopping." Lydia rolled her eyes, normally, Lydia would have gotten excited at the mere mention of shopping, but for once, she wasn't really feeling it, primarily because she wasn't interested in this dance anyway. Since her date was not named Aiden, plus, she already had a pretty outfit picked out. She'd discovered the dress about a day ago, trashed somewhere at the back of her closet like a scrap of paper, which was ridiculous because the dress was gorgeous and she didn't remember buying it. If she didn't remember buying it, there was no way she'd worn it yet.

"I'll pass. Feel free to hop into your car and drive over, though. I've got outfits you can borrow."

Allison sounded dubious. "What's wrong? You're always in for shopping. I remember that one week when you'd caught the flu and you insisted on retail therapy and it actually worked," Lydia smirked at the memory and nodded. "It's not the shopping -" she begun, and Allison finished for her, "It's the dance itself," Lydia wasn't even surprised that Allison was able to complete her sentences, they'd gotten even closer than they used to be in the past few days, and Lydia was glad considering she'd never had a friend as trustworthy and reliable as Allison, who was the one person who'd been there through the thick and thin. Allison was someone Lydia would never want to lose; boys would come and go, but friends were what were important at the end of the day.

Plus, Lydia was still to meet a boy who could compete with Allison.

"Lyd, I told you to give it a try with Stiles, but if it's really that difficult for you to attend the dance then... I can get Scott to speak to Stiles. You don't have to go on half a heart." Lydia considered this, "Nah, I'm the most popular girl in school, Allison. I have to be there."

It seemed as if Allison was suppressing a laugh on the other line, "With Stiles Stilinski?" Lydia shrugged. According to everyone at school, everything she touched turned to gold, maybe that would apply for the dorky teenage boy, too. "With Stiles Stilinski." She confirmed.

Lydia could almost visualize Allison's features lighting up as she giddily responded, "Great! Scott and I will pick you guys up to keep it from being too awkward." Lydia smiled, she knew Allison wanted time alone with Scott, but she was still striving to make the situation less uncomfortable for Lydia.

"Generous offer, but I think I can handle my own date for an extra twenty minutes. You kids have fun, okay? See you at the party."

Allison sighed on the other line, "I guess I'll just have to go shopping without you," Lydia bit her lip. "You'll survive. Stay fab! Buh-Bye!"

She cut the phone and went back to staring at the ceiling.

xxxxx

She fixed the strap of her red stiletto before she gave herself a final look in the mirror.

Lydia was clad in a backless red dress that frilled a little at the bottom and fell to her knees. It was plain, but the lace at the ends sparkled when she twirled. She'd dolled up her hair with plastic clips and hairpins to keep them upright in the waterfall braid she'd made. The light pink shadow, mascara stained eyelashes and classy red lipstick absolutely adorned the look, complimenting it almost perfectly. Lydia felt pretty again, and she often felt happy when she felt pretty. Like she was ready to take on the world (as long as she had lipstick and high heels).

Despite the positive thoughts, she couldn't stop herself from popping an anti-depressant on her way out. She couldn't remember when she'd become so habituated to taking them, but once she'd begun she couldn't quite find the nerve to quit. They made her happier, calmer, they kept her from feeling like her chest was going to explode everytime she thought about everything that made her upset.

Stiles' jeep was parked in the driveway. HIS JEEP. HE WAS TAKING HER TO THE DANCE OF THE YEAR IN THAT CENTURIES OLD JEEP. Real smooth. Gosh. It was like he wasn't even trying. He probably couldn't even afford a limo, but on the other hand, maybe the low key stuff was a good thing. Lydia sighed as he leaned over and opened the door for her.

"Real classy, stud muffin. Since how long have you owned this piece of junk? The World War 2?"

Stiles bit his lip sheepishly, "Hey, I like this jeep," he mumbled, so softly that it seemed like he was talking to himself rather than to her. "Kinda have to lug it around till college, for college. Not everyone's a rich brat like you." Lydia narrowed her eyes at his jab as she got into his jeep and shut the door, almost reconsidering and contemplating walking out.

Stiles scrunched up his nose and smacked himself across the forehead, murmuring something under his breath like "you finally get the girl of your dreams to go out with you and then you totally blow it" Lydia broke into a grin that kind of creeped up on her before she could repress it.

"It's a small jeep. Stiles, I can hear you." Stiles literally flinched like she'd pinched him on the arm. "What I meant was... Nevermind what I meant. You look... _beautiful_ ," he said the last word like a sigh, blinking like he'd only just noticed her. Lydia didn't often believe people when they told her she was pretty or gorgeous or beautiful or whatever, not because she had low self-esteem, simply because those compliments always kinda fell flat, like empty words that held no genuine thoughts, but she could see it in his eyes that he truly believed she was beautiful. His eyes seemed to hold daydreams, like everything inside him was screaming at him, telling him she was beautiful. Lydia scrutinized him, slightly surprised, he was clad in a tux that fit him surprisingly well, his hair was mussed up, messier than usual and perhaps on purpose, and he smelt like cologne and champagne. "You've been drinking?" she raised an eyebrow and Stiles shrugged lamely as he hit the gas and they pulled out of her driveway.

"Scott made me, it's tradition apparently,"

"Well. Got some more _tradition_ on you? I'm parched,"

Stiles grinned, "and you know what they say, alcohol's the best thirst quencher," Lydia frowned and Stiles smacked himself against the forehead again.

"I should just stop talking. Evidently, I've been making a colossal idiot of myself since I picked you up," Lydia took a deep breath and stared out the window at the world whizzing past them. "You picked me up two minutes ago. The night will get better." She didn't really believe that it would, but maybe saying it out loud would help somehow.

Stiles seemed just as doubtful as she was as they drove to Beacon Hills High, despite the fact that they spent the rest of the ride in silence, Lydia noticed how he kept darting glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking and when his eyes were not on the road; between stop lights and everytime there wasn't too much traffic. Finally, Lydia felt like she would suffocate to the air of awkwardness that had seemed to settle like a cloud above their heads. "What?" she spat, slightly irked. Stiles pulled a naive frown, "What's what?" Lydia bit her lip.

"You know what."

"I really don't."

"Seriously?"

"Why would I be asking you what if I knew what you were whatting about?" Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" Lydia shot him a glare that she hoped held a lot of menace.

Stiles gulped. "Okay, I... I just noticed you don't seem really into this. Allison forced you into coming with me, didn't she?"

Lydia, for the first time probably, looked up at him and met his eyes. She couldn't help but notice that they were the color of whiskey and that they were riveted right back at her and that there was apprehension in them, like he knew the answer to the question but didn't want to hear her say it out loud, despite the direct boldness painting his features.

When Lydia didn't respond for a long time, since her brain had suddenly lost all train of sentient thought and she felt at a loss for words, Stiles filled the silence. "Come on, Lydia. We both know you wouldn't be caught dead at this stupid party with me if someone hadn't shoved you into it." Lydia pressed a finger to her temple, glancing outside to avoid his gaze, and realizing that they were parked in the school's lot. People dressed to the nines in sleek suits and shiny dresses were heading in hordes towards the main entrance of the school. The blue lamp light next to their car reflected on Stiles' face and bathed the front of the car with cyan tinges. "It's not you," she began, but he cut her off completely. "No, no of course not. It's _you_ ," he sounded sarcastic; mad, even.

"Nobody in their right mind would believe that, okay," he continued on, to her utter horror. "To be honest, Lydia, I don't get why you're always doing things you don't actually want to do, I don't get why you're always playing dumb and shying away from what you want and who you are. It's just... senseless! Okay? Everything about you is just... senseless!"

Lydia opened her mouth to say something, to retaliate, to prove him wrong, to insult him right back, but nothing came out and for the first time she was left too flabbergasted to speak. It was like every word was a hand grenade, tossed at her face. Stiles' expression softened all of a sudden, like a flip of a switch, perhaps he noticed the astounded look of shock on Lydia's white face. "I'm sorry... I don't know where that came from, I just..." his words failed him and he groaned, pressing his fingers into his eyes and shaking his head vigorously. "Idiot!" He exclaimed, again, to himself. Lydia shook her head and opened the door, she'd finally got herself back together, so she was going to avoid continuing this conversation further.

"Come on," she muttered as she got out of the jeep. "We're late for the party."

xxxxx

 _Alright. Smile, Lydia. Someone could be falling in love with your smile. All eyes will be on you once you saunter in, so chin up, eyes wide, and posture straight._

Lydia could feel Stiles breathing down her neck, standing a few inches behind her. He was practically emanating anxiousness. "You're with me now," she explained to him like one would explain a toddler, "so don't make me look bad."

She didn't give Stiles the chance to reply, she grabbed his hand; coercing herself not to dwell on how clammy and warm it was as she lead him past the double-doors and into the Spring Formal. Lydia broke into a flawless grin as the ventilation above them blew cool air at their faces and had her hair whipping back like it would in the wind. The hall was adorned with glittering streamers and balloons, even though the room was bathed in a turquoise hue; the laser lights leapt out at them, blinking like rainbow sunlight. Music blasted, making the walls vibrate like there were living things inside them. Throngs of kids in marvelous evening wear danced around them, Lydia spotted the refreshments table towards the end of the hall and lead Stiles through the crowd, which parted for her because she was Lydia Martin. There were weird looks from a few of her friends, obviously they were judging her because she was here with Stiles Whateverski, but at this point, she was beyond giving a damn.

"Uh," Stiles murmured awkwardly when they finally pushed past the dancing people and made it to the refreshments. Lydia barely heard him, she let go of his hand and poured herself some punch, "I hope someone spiked this," she thought out loud before taking a languid sip. "I'm going to be right back," Stiles blabbed after what looked to Lydia like a considerate amount of hesitation. He was frowning slightly, his lips parted in a curve as he pointed at two figures across the room with his thumb. Lydia followed his big-eyed gaze towards the familiar forms of Allison and Scott.

Lydia shrugged - unable to find the energy to go get up and speak to them; and nodded. Stiles darted off and Lydia sat down on one of the many unoccupied chairs in the hall, sipping on her very-much-spiked punch.

Lydia spotted Coach weaving his way through the crowd, yelling, "Greenberg! Who let you in here?" and then she spotted Aiden, and he was here with a date. _The audacity!_ she thought. It hadn't even been over a week since they'd broken things off and he was already back on the horse. _Technically, we never dated..._ Oh, shut up! Lydia shushed the voice in her own mind. Lydia couldn't quite catch a glimpse at the girl he was dancing with, but she did catch a flash of blonde hair.

"Skank," Lydia murmured under her breath. "Lydia," When Lydia looked up again, Allison stood over her head in a sassy pink number that complimented her figure well. The expression on her face was perplexed. She blinked at her friend. "What?" Allison's eyes shot skyward as she grabbed herself a chair and seated herself in front of her. "Your date seems to be going swell," she mumbled, gritting her teeth. Lydia nodded, "Isn't it?" Allison shook her head, exasperated.

"He's on the other side of the room, cockblocking me and my boyfriend, while you're sitting here all alone, pitying yourself!"

Lydia smirked at Allison. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," she mused, sarcasm dripping from her tone.

Allison groaned, and that's when Lydia put two and two together - usually, she was the first one to catch on, but it hadn't been a good day for her brain. "Wait a second," her green eyes widened. "Your _boyfriend?_ " Allison's tension melted away, and she broke into a dreamy smile. "We defined the relationship. He kissed me. It was magical." Lydia was about to respond when Allison spoke again, adding almost as an afterthought, "up until Stiles came up to us and began blithering on about how he'd made an ass of himself with you,"

Lydia tackled Allison with a hug then. "Congratulations! You two will have an epic love!" Allison chuckled, as she pulled away, her gaze dropping to the empty punch glass in Lydia's hand. "How much of that punch have you had?" Lydia frowned, "It's just my first glass, but I'm about to help myself to a second serving," Allison rolled her eyes once more. "Lydia, you don't have to keep your heart locked away all the time. Stiles is a little dorky, but he's cute and he's a nice guy. You've had a serious lack of those in your life."

"Thank you, mother. I'll remember that. Can I turn my blood into alcohol in peace now?"

"Okay, just... If you need a ride home or whatever, let me know. I'm going to send your date back to you though so hopefully I won't have to. Bye!" Lydia got up and poured herself more punch, before perching herself on the seat once more.

As predicted, Stiles made his way back to her in no time. He looked more sure of himself now, his hazel eyes gleaming with tinges of silver and red from the reflection of the laser lights. Lydia watched him rub his hands together and run them over his face and hair, and shake his head vigorously as if he were mentally preparing himself to converse with her. She simply stared at him in a sort of bored amusement until he was standing over her, precisely where Allison had stood only minutes ago. "You wanna dance?" Lydia looked up at him without moving her head.

"Pass."

Stiles didn't break into a petulant scowl, he didn't stomp away. Instead, a layer of prominent persistence iced over his features. "You know what? Let me try that again. Lydia - get off your cute little ass and dance with me now." _Don't laugh. It's rude_. Lydia bit back her rather derisive laughter and settled for a polite declination. "Interesting tactic. I'm going to stick with no."

At this point, Stiles looked like he wasn't willing to take no for an answer. Determination burned behind his eyes. It was almost charming. Stress on the 'almost'.

"Lydia, get up, okay? You're gonna dance with me. I don't care if I keep losing a little shred of my dignity every time I have a conversation with you, I don't - Lydia, I've had a crush on you since the third grade. And I know that somewhere inside that cold, lifeless exterior, there's an actual human soul. And I'm also pretty sure that I'm the only one who knows how smart you really are. Uh-huh. And that once you're done pretending to be a nitwit - you'll eventually go off and write some insane mathematical theorem that wins you the Nobel Prize."

Lydia was staring at him in awe now, not a trickle of laughter remaining in her throat. She wasn't quite sure how Stiles had figured it out, perhaps it made sense, he'd stalked her practically his whole life. Something had changed in him today, something in his demeanor that endeared him in her eyes enough for her to want to give him a chance and enjoy the night like she was supposed to.

Maybe it was time she stopped dating the bad guys, she didn't want to be with the Jacksons and Aidens of the world anymore. That of course, didn't imply she wanted to be with the Stiles' of the world either, but it did mean she was willing to give up wallowing and have a good time. Plus, that was quite the declaration.

"A Fields Medal," Lydia corrected as she began to stand, "What?" Stiles looked miffed. Lydia grinned, putting her glass of punch down on the table and extending her hands out to take his hands in hers once more. This time, his hands were less sweaty and more rough, and she noticed that they were bigger than hers.

"Nobel doesn't have a prize for mathematics. The Field Medal's the one I'll be winning." She responded as he lead her onto the dance floor, his face white as chalk as the realization passed over his features until he broke into a grin of his own.

Lydia found herself wrapping her arms around his neck, and he responded by sneaking a hand around her waist; albeit gingerly at first. Sometimes, Lydia pondered, he behaved as if it burned simply to touch her. They swayed to the dawdling, hypnotic; almost lullaby-ish tune of the music in silence for some time. Lydia's mind, for once, was clear of all thought. She felt light weighted, at ease after what seemed like ages. She caught Aiden's eye on the dance floor, whose hot tar was pressed up against the blonde girl's hips. They were dancing only a few steps away from them. He was staring at her as if his own vision were betraying him, and she couldn't help the almost sardonically satisfied smile that crept up her lips.

"Can I tell you something, Lydia?" Stiles wondered aloud, whispering against her ear, his breath hot. Lydia nodded softly, "Go ahead." Stiles smiled again, it was a sweet, innocent smile. Very different from the snarky, smug smiles she was used to from the boys she went out with.

"Sometimes I feel like I've got to cross entire oceans just for a moment of your time," he admits.

Lydia meets his gaze, slightly surprised by his confession and maybe she shouldn't have been since he'd been surprising her all night. "Very poetic," she responded, biting her lip.

"I'm serious," he insisted. Lydia shrugged slightly, "I know."

She stared into his eyes for a moment, and the world seemed to come to a halt around them. It was just his whiskey colored eyes looking into hers and their bodies pressed slightly against each other and then Stiles, to kill the tension, made a joke. "This day will be remembered in history as the day I danced with the most beautiful girl in the world," Lydia cocked her head to the side, the spell breaking. "Why do you keep flattering me?" Stiles bit his lip, his eyebrows wiggling slightly like he was having a conversation with himself in his head, after which he met her gaze once more. "I'm not trying to flatter you, Lydia," the response made her chuckle. "So... What? You genuinely believe I'm the prettiest girl on the planet, huh?" when he blinked in mystification, Lydia's mirth dissipated to be replaced by a miffed frown.

"Really?"

Stiles smiled slightly, "I don't know. When you smile, everything just makes a little more sense and I've laid awake at night thinking about the color of your hair and your eyes and when I spot you across the hall, my heart's beating at the pace of a bullet train, and it's just... _logically_ , only the prettiest girl in the world could make me feel that way," when he realized how much he'd confessed, he winced and twirled her around so she couldn't see his face.

"I sound like a sappy Valentines card," he muttered under his breath as he pulled her back towards him. "Sorry," Lydia had received an abundance of compliments in her life, but never something like _that_. His words made her smile, and she felt like the butterflies inside her stomach had learnt how to sting. "No," she mumbled. "Don't apologize. It was cute."

The music dwindled and their dance ended.

xxxxx

Lydia was gulping down punch like it was water as Stiles sat on the seat facing her, prattling on about Stars Wars and how _legendary_ it was, he kept insisting she would love it if she just _gave it a chance_. Lydia wasn't really listening to his words, but she liked watching people talk about stuff they were passionate about, their eyes lit up and their entire faces glowed. Stiles had fires in his irises and he was smiling that wide, goofy smile he wore so well, he wasn't spouting awkward one-liners and standing so still and stiff that Lydia wouldn't be able to tell if he was even breathing; which was how he'd behaved on previous encounters. He was completely at ease, and he wasn't so bad when he wasn't trying so hard _not_ to be himself.

It made Lydia wonder about the effect she had on people - on one hand, she was secretly almost smugly proud of how she seemed to make boys nervous by simply being in their presence, on the other, it made her realize how unapproachable and aloof she could be.

She may be the Ice Queen, but she was a lonely one. Maybe queens were meant to be lonely, Lydia recalled the poem _'When I was fair and young,'_ by Queen Elizabeth the first, it spoke about how despite having countless suitors in her prime, she managed to chase them all away by behaving coldly and showing minimal, almost mocking interest and how she yearned to go back to those days and adjust her attitude so she wouldn't have to die alone.

The virgin queen's story perplexed Lydia, how ironic it was that she was loved and admired by all her kingdom and yet felt so alone and isolated inside. Sometimes, Lydia felt the same way. When she looked up at Stiles' face again, his mouth was a straight line. "I snuck into your house once in the middle of the night and stole one of your scarves," he said when she met his gaze. Lydia bit her lip, appalled. "What? Really?" Stiles frowned, "No, of course not. I just noticed you weren't really paying any attention to what I was saying, and now I realize I probably sounded like a blithering idiot. No, but like, honestly, was I boring you?" Lydia smiled and shook her head politely, "You weren't. And I'll give Star Wars a swing sometime," she shrugged.

Stiles looked shocked, "You will?" she shrugged once more. "Why not?" Stiles grinned, "Awesome! I've got the blue-ray discs and box sets and everything. I've also got the comics in mint condition... If you, uh, if you'd want to... take a look," before he could continue, Scott had made his way to their table. He flashed Lydia an anxious smile and his jaw clenched, his gaze settling on Stiles.

"Hey, Stiles," he mumbled. "Can I borrow you for a second? I've got to tell you something,"

Stiles stopped talking mid-sentence and gaped at his friend in disbelief, his eyes squinting slightly in annoyance. Lydia wondered if he was upset Scott had interrupted their talk. "Can it wait?" Stiles muttered between gritted teeth. Scott glanced at Lydia, who shrugged to convey she didn't mind at all.

He went back to gazing intensely at Stiles, "I have to talk to you, dude. _Understand?_ " Lydia assumed whatever Scott wanted to convey - it was urgent, but also surreptitious since he was obviously trying way too hard to be furtive in front of her. Stiles gulped, his expression stubborn.

"Whatever you have say to me, you can say it in front of Lydia." Scott ran a hand through his hair, exasperated, his eyes darting everywhere like he expected the entire ball room to blow any minute. "Dude!" he exclaimed, rather loudly. Some sort of understanding flashed in Stiles' eyes and he shot off his seat like a rocket. "Uh, Lydia?" he smiled at her sheepishly. "It's okay. Go," she raised an arm and jerked it towards Scott, hoping to indicate to him that it really didn't matter. He nodded vigorously, Scott offered her a sheepish smile of his own, and they rushed off, melting into the throngs of dancing people.

Lydia shrugged for the fourth time, and downed yet another glass of _very_ spiked punch.


	4. Dancing Queen

**A/N: PLEEASEE REVIEW. It only takes a MINUTE of your time and means the world to me. Plus, your feedback motivates me to write faster. Anyway, today's chapter has a Buffy (Spuffy) reference because I love that show so if you catch that then yay you are qualified to be my friend, now go get yourself a cookie!**

 **p.s: If you have questions or you really wanna be my friend just drop me a PM or follow me on tumblr: xoeternalflamexo yes I go by the same username and message me on there because I'm a loser and I want more lovely people to talk to because of the considerate lack of those in my life.**

 **Small, insignificant detail 1: Remember the "What's a Stiles?" episode? There's this adorable little snippet of exchange there that I shoehorned into this chapter.**  
 **  
Small, insignificant detail 2: There are two All Time Low songs featured in this. If you like that band, you are qualified to be my best friend and congratulations on your music taste you deserve everythang. If not... GO LISTEN TO THEM NOW YOU'LL THANK ME LATER.**

 **Ok. That's it. Enjoy! PLEASE. FEEDBACK = A HAPPY ME = FASTER WRITING = FASTER UPDATES. *looks away free of guilt because I'm totally not blackmailing or anything smuh***

* * *

 _"In the chill of your stare I am painfully lost,_  
 _like a deer in the lights of an oncoming bus,_  
 _for the thrill of your touch I will shamefully lust,_  
 _as you tell me we're nothing but trouble."_

* * *

Stiles

"This has got to be some sort of cosmic joke. The bad guys really need to work on their timing, I was just getting somewhere with Lydia _freaking_ Martin, you know!" Stiles complained, he sounded petulant, even to his own ears, but it remained a fact that everything else seemed to matter less when he was with Lydia.

Scott rolled his eyes, "I'm sorry that probable mortal danger got in the way of your date, but I saw something when I'd gone down the hall to go to the bathroom, there are people here - others, definitely didn't look like students or teachers,"

Stiles frowned. "Really though, why would criminals want to attack a stupid school dance?"

Scott shook his head, "Maybe they're after Coach, I hear he used to deal drugs, and honestly, who doesn't want to punch the guy?" Stiles flashed him a get-real look and Scott shrugged, "Beats me, man. All I know is that it's worth checking out. If something's going on, I need to keep Allison a hundred miles away from it. Not to mention your precious Lydia's in the building,"

Stiles' eyes widened. "Along with five-hundred something innocent party-goers, gosh. I'm on it. If there's really something -" Scott cut him off and tossed him a black backpack that had been lying against the wall. "Your suit's in there," Stiles was grateful that he had a buddy like Scott there for him at all times, but sometimes, he felt like smacking his best friend upside the head.

"You left an unmanned black backpack just lying in plain sight at a Spring Formal? Do you know how suspicious that looks? What if someone decided to take a peek?" realization painted Scott's features, but all he said was, "Let's be glad nobody did." As Stiles rolled his eyes and hurried out of the hall.

He shoved past the double doors that led into the school hallway which was shrouded in shadows, allowing for nothing but darkness except for the little bars of moonlight that shone through the tiny windows above the lockers. Stiles took a step, gingerly, attempting to be as covert as possible. He could almost hear the Pink Panther theme song ringing in his head as he pushed on forward. The hallway was quiet, almost _too_ quiet, except for the dull thumping of the music system in the hall room reverberating through the walls. Somehow, he made his way towards the boy's bathroom without incident, swiftly slipping out of his tux, struggling with the tie for a few languid seconds before progressively hopping up and down to pull the pants off. Once he was in the familiar spandex outfit, Stiles shoved his clothes into the backpack and hid it in one of the toilets. He yanked the mask out and gave himself a quick look in the mirror before putting it on. Once it was on, Stiles wasn't Stiles anymore.

The person looking back at him was a different person altogether. This wasn't skinny, dorky Stiles Stilinski - school late comer, class clown and a disappointment of a son. This was Spiderman, well known vigilante, city protector, an incognito behind a shroud. He wasn't very fond of the nickname, Spiderman, it was a little too on-the-nose for his tastes, but somehow, it had stuck, and he couldn't imagine being called anything else after that. Spiderman sped out of the bathroom and shuffled about the school hallway. Was there really something going on? If Scott was wrong about this, he was going to pay dearly for interrupting his time with Lydia. His spider senses weren't tingling all that much, not as much as usual.

A shrill shriek sounded out and Spiderman's question was answered. Something was indeed wrong here. The scream seemed to have come from his left, so he followed his instinct and darted through the shadows in the direction of the sound. When he heard voices he leapt up, clinging to the ceiling and keeping to the shadows that were forming grotesque faces in the dim light encroaching him.

"This is boring. When can we wreak some havoc? They're playing David Guetta in there and it's making me sick, let's take them out already," a bored female voice muttered.

"Have patience, Elena. Those are not our orders," a deep muscular voice intoned. " _Our orders,_ " she lingered on the words, "are stupid." she concluded.

"Personally, I think your Master is stupid. Spiderman is _not_ an adolescent boy. He's brought down terrorist organizations, put down a bunch of my allies, he defeated the Green Goblin, for God's sake," she went on to say. Spiderman had to bite the inside of his cheek real hard to keep from scoffing. He wanted to take a better look at the sources of the voices to see what he was up against, but he couldn't seem to catch a glimpse of them.

He knew they were right there, somewhere under him, their voices weren't bouncing from far off - but it was like they were invisible. Underneath him was nothing but a blanket of darkness, but he was absolutely sure these were fugitives, and his senses were on fire now; they were holding a hostage.

"Our Master," the man blabbed irritably, "thinks that he is, so we're not going to question his word. There's a damsel in distress, so he'll be here, if he really has those bug senses of his,"

Spiderman was beginning to hate the guy without even seeing his face. Spiders were _so_ not bugs, they were arachnids! There was however, a jolt inside his chest because 1. Their 'Master', whoever that happened to be, seemed to know that Stiles' was a High School kid, he couldn't comprehend how he knew this, but it could be a huge risk. 2. He had to prove them right and swoop in and save the girl who they were keeping hostage, which really wasn't going to do any favors for his plan of keeping up the anonymity.

"We should make her scream at least," the female suggested. "She doesn't look tortured enough."

Spiderman heard whimpers, someone was definitely about to get hurt. "She's all yours," the male voice agreed. _Oh well. Here goes_. Spiderman leapt to the ground, feeling like his arm brushed against another arm in the blinding darkness.

"Sorry," he said, hoping his voice wouldn't waver considering he truly felt like he was going blind - he couldn't even make out silhouettes anymore, "but I don't think I can let you do that."

Spiderman lunged at his seemingly invisible enemies, and suddenly light swallowed the darkness. In fact, there was suddenly so much light that Spiderman got a little disoriented, and it looked like he was standing in a white room. There was a girl convulsing with her back against the lockers, her mouth, hands and feet were gagged and there were mascara stained tears running down her cheeks. Her blue dress was soaked scarlet, and there was a nasty, bleeding gash on her forehead. When Spiderman looked up, his jaw almost fell off of his face. In front of him stood two of the strangest looking people he'd ever seen, which was saying something considering he'd met the Green Goblin.

The female was clad in black robes, her face was ashen white like a vampire's, even her teeth were sharpened to look like fangs. The long, midnight black of her hair fell down her shoulders like the debauched branches of a dying tree, and her eyes looked void, blackness swallowed her pupils; she seemed to have none. He couldn't gauge how old she was, she seemed to be almost ageless, but if he had to guess, she was probably in her late-twenties.

She broke into a grin, "Oh, I've been dying to meet you," she purred.

Next to her stood a lean, chiseled man who towered at the height of 6'3, he wore a white tux, and his shoulder-length pale blond hair seemed camouflaged into the stark white light that had suddenly eclipsed them, his teeth were gold and there were wrinkles under his eyes with slit pupils. In the palm of his hand levitated an orb of light. Spiderman realized, with utter horror, that these two had superhuman powers; just like the Whirlwind dude who had attacked the restaurant. The only difference was that these two were definitely more pretentious.

Spiderman regained his stance, glad he wore a mask so that they couldn't see the apprehension that he was sure adorned his face.

"I'd say the same but you guys aren't exactly popular," he mumbled. "Great look, though. Totally digging the Yin and Yang thing you've got going on. I'm guessing you can warp the dark and you can warp the light?" Spiderman asked rather nonchalantly like he wasn't mind boggled and afraid, pointing at them both simultaneously.

"Yin and yang," the girl nodded her head, looking impressed. "It has a nice ring to it."

The white man grinned, "You stated the obvious. Congratulations. I pinned you to be a smarter lad." Spiderman hoped that the man had stolen the moonlight that poured out of the window panes and couldn't actually create light on his own, which would make him very unlucky. "Well," Spiderman shrugged. "I sincerely hope I'm able to prove you right."

He didn't waste any more time on small talk, he knew the chances of him dying were very high tonight and that he was pretty much overpowered by the two foes with such massive powers, but he was fast and light on his feet and if he just played it right... he could defeat them.

He knew he was way in over his head, but wasn't he always?

Spiderman sprung at the female first, landing a few punches across her face, but she absorbed into the darkness and the room was swallowed by shadows once more, so he could feel himself against her but he couldn't see her. It was like she had become the darkness and somehow managed to shroud everything else around her including Yang and the hostage so they were drenched in utter blackness too. He continued to pound at her until she slipped out from under him and he couldn't feel anything; right up until he felt a thump against his back.

Yang's golden teeth sparkled in the small ball of light he held above his palm, illuminating things enough for silhouettes to be visible again. Spiderman was about to tell him he was grateful when he sent the ball of light whizzing his way, thinking quickly he dodged the sphere.

He was able to stun people with light. Not good. Really not good.

"Admirable reflexes," Yin seemed to materialize behind him, "but an itsy bitsy spider can't beat darkness or light, especially not when they combine forces," the room was dark once more.

She got a few good hits at him, kicking his feet from under him so he fell to the floor on his butt, yanking him back up and landing a blow to his gut. From behind closed eyelids, Spiderman saw swiveling colors illuminating the blackness, and he yelped as his eyes opened, a ball of light got him right in the chest. Spiderman groaned, ungracefully falling to the floor on his stomach, his head spinning like he was on the world's fastest rollercoaster. His chest seemed to constrict and his heart literally hurt, he clutched his chest, heaving, it felt like he was going to have a heart attack.

"One sting," the man's voice echoed. "Hurts like hell but on the second sting? You slip into cardiac arrest, which would be so fun if our Master didn't want you alive,"

 _Master, Master, Master. Seriously. What was this? Star Wars?_

Spiderman coerced himself into ignoring the seemingly unbearable pain that had seized him. Think fast. Everything has weaknesses. Perhaps they were each other's weaknesses... If he was faster, quicker, if he could have them wipe out each other... Spiderman gulped down his fears, it was a now-or-never, do-or-die situation, and he hated being dramatic, but he had a feeling he was in no hurry to find out who this Master they kept prattling on about really was.

He leapt to his feet and ran, faster than he'd ever run in his entire life. The sound of his drumming heartbeat rang in his ears, like the organ had grown hands and was pounding its fists against his rib cage. He could feel sweat trickling down his forehead, against the absorbable material of his suit. He ran in a circle, clinging to the ceiling, then jumping back down and taking refuge in the shadows, before dashing off across the room and back again as swift as a cat.

He could tell it was disorienting the two of them so much that they weren't able to aim accurately. "Ow!" Yin exclaimed. "Watch it!" Yang groaned unapologetically "I'm sorry, he's confusing me!"

Spiderman's feet were light as feathers, it was exhilarating, running in circles and leaping up and across walls, confusing his foes into attacking each other. The room kept flashing, like blinking disco lights, light and dark, switching back and forth again and again. Spiderman could do this all day, despite the nagging burn inside his chest that told him he was seriously injured, but he was running on pure adrenaline, and it was impressive how much strength he could conjure when he was in danger of being released from his mortal coil. He kept going, not stopping until he'd exhausted himself so much that the balls of his feet began to burn and skid due to friction.

"I can't.. I can't catch him!" Yin sounded mad. Yang shouted, "Retaliate! Retaliate!" right before getting blasted with Yin's shadows. Yang yelped in pain, crumbling to his knees, Yin rushed to his aid. "I'm sorry, I was aiming for Spiderman,"

Yang clutched his middle and stood up with the help of Yin. "Let's get out of here. We'll deal with him later." Yin nodded, and Yang seemed to vanish in a blinding flash of light. Yin stood glued in place, her expression hardening.

"We were doing you a favor, you know, if you'd cooperated you wouldn't have to face the wrath of my Master," with that, she dissolved into the darkness and Spiderman sunk into a heap on the floor, his whole body throbbing with pain from impact.

When he managed to heave his wounded body off the floor and after he'd cut the hostage girl loose, he decided that he was lucky to be alive.

No matter how pretentious Yin and Yang were, they were powerful, like _The Avengers_ powerful. Except they weren't like The Avengers at all, more like the Nephilim.

As Stiles pushed passed the bathroom doors to change back into his suit, he caught a look in the mirror and his jaw dropped down in horror. He looked like a walking blood bruise. They'd beat him up good, and maybe he wasn't so lucky after all, considering that he looked more like an ogre than a Disney Prince at the moment, and he was still on a date with Lydia.

 _She's probably dancing with someone else already. She's probably forgotten all about you. She's probably asking "What is a Stiles?" again.  
_  
Stiles changed back into his suit, but he decided he would leave instead of stay at the dance. It wasn't like he had a choice. He had a black eye, his fingers were splattered with black and blue injuries like a dozen bee stings, there was a small gash on his cheek and it was bleeding. Stiles felt like he had a bulldozer lodged inside his head and his limbs were made of jello.

It ached to walk. It ached to blink. It ached to breathe.

Stiles would have to go into hiding to veil how broken he was. He'd have to leave without saying goodbye to Lydia Martin. It was idiotic of him and he knew it. He should be worrying about the super powered crazies running around the city, painting it red like it was Criminal Hanukkah.

Instead he was daydreaming about his hands around Lydia's petite waist and the look she got in her eyes when he confessed the way he felt about her. Lydia Martin's eyes were psychedelic, like they had magical properties in them. She looked like a princess in a fairytale in that pretty number she had on today, but he knew she was strong enough to be her own knight. Girls like Lydia didn't need saving, girls like Lydia saved boys like him. _There we go again. Oops._ The point kind of got lost in his thoughts, wait - no, that was the point.

The city was his primary priority, not some girl he'd never have a chance with, and he knew that - in his heart of hearts he knew that he wouldn't stand a chance with her. Yes. She went on a single date with him, but that was because Allison practically forced her into it. He wanted Lydia to go out with him once, of her own free will. He wanted to show her his world. Only he couldn't, because his world was one of pain and tragedy and monstrous backaches. They weren't going to drive off into the sunset anytime soon, he should have known that. Stiles stumbled out of the bathroom, the music from the party still reverberated through the walls from a distance. He smiled despite himself, at least he'd succeeded at something tonight.

The Spring Formal was untouched by the bad guys. They were all safe in there, dancing the night away, and they had no idea the danger that lurked in the shadows. Stiles texted Scott:

Situation handled but I've got 2 go home. Tell Lydia I'm sorry. Tell her... Something came up.

He shoved his phone into his pocket and stepped into the frigid night air. His darling y was waiting for him like she always was. "I'll always have you, baby," Stiles muttered as he got into his beloved blue jeep and blasted an All Time Low song.

 _"Am I villain? Cast among heroes with all of their underwhelming overbearing struggles to become what they'll never be?"_

xxxxx

It was the longest week of his life.

The city had quieted down, it felt more like a calm before a storm rather than a peaceful serenity. Yin and Yang, the Whirlwind and the rest of Club Evil seemed to have gone into hiding. It was beneficial for him because he went back to simple errands, catching _normal_ criminals with _normal_ guns and knives who wouldn't blast him with gusts of wind or burn him alive with a searing look.

He knew the peace and quiet would only last for so long - something big and bad was on the horizon. Whatever it was, Stiles was hoping to shoot it out of the sky before it destroyed his city.

He spent most of the week at home, he didn't attend the first three days of school because he was stitching up his own wounds (the kind of wounds that would raise questions if he admitted himself to a hospital or went to a doctor), healing, and burying himself in extensive research. Stiles avoided his own father, because he couldn't think up a plausible lie that would explain the extent of the damage caused to his face and arms.

"Damn! You look like someone mistook your face for a piñata!" Scott had commented.

He'd come over a few times, he brought him ice packs and comic books and they talked about school and played video games. Scott was the only human contact Stiles really had for the first three days, when he was too banged up to play hero. He felt better now, and his injuries had mostly healed except for a few guaranteed scars that would stick. When Scott came over again on Saturday evening, Stiles was in the middle of sorting through all the clues and red herrings that he'd found over the week.

"Get up loser we're going shopping!" Scott strolled into his room, and with him, wafted the smell of Thai curry and soda fizz. Scott was bearing take-out food. Stiles raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Okay, _not_ shopping, but we're definitely getting you out of this house. You're beginning to smell like dirty laundry and cobwebs and as your friend, I'll be the first to admit I'd be thoroughly embarrassed to be seen in public with a colossal loner like you." Stiles looked up from the red strings he was fiddling with.

"Gee, thanks, Scott. You always know the right thing to say."

Scott rolled his eyes and handed him a take-out box. He smelt strongly of some expensive cologne and after-shave (not that Scott had a lot to shave in the first place, but he'd punch him in the gut for saying that out loud). "Eat up. We're going clubbing afterwards... _Whoa,_ " Scott's eyes skirted the room.

"If you didn't get the memo, they already caught and killed Bin Laden in 2011," Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair rather irritably. "I've been trying to figure out when all these genetically enhanced criminals joined the party, and I've found something pretty unbelievable," Scott frowned, crouching down to look at everything Stiles had put together.

"So I'm pretty swamped, rain check on the clubbing thing?"

Scott knitted his eyebrows together, like he didn't hear Stiles speak. "What did you find?"

Stiles pressed a finger to his temple. "Well... First off, I thought that a lot of these freaks had familiar faces, like I'd seen them before, somehow, somewhere..." Scott urged him to go on. "And?" "And I was right, look at this," Stiles stood up and walked over to his drawer, yanking out a few old newspapers and flattening them out on the ground for Scott to see.

He pointed at a mugshot of a blonde girl in an orange suit.

"All I'm seeing is a hot murderess," Scott muttered.

Stiles ignored his friend's comment. He pointed at her face, "That is Christina Blood, she was sentenced for multiple attempts of arson, murder and petty theft in 2012. I was going through NYPD's records on her, she was one of the most difficult criminals to catch. She doesn't seem like much, but it took an entire SWAT team to bring her down,"

Scott squeezed his eyes shut and huffed out a breath. "I'm trying really hard not to be turned on by that," Stiles ignored him once more.

"The point is, she recently disappeared. I'm not talking like broke-out-of-jail disappeared, but like she just vanished into thin air one day. Like she was there that night, and the next morning when the guards came, she was just... _poof,_ "

Scott bit his lip. "That's weird," Stiles nodded. "It gets weirder. Christina Blood is the woman I saw that day, the one who could manipulate darkness? I almost couldn't recognize her with different hair and without the dark make-up, but I'm a hundred percent sure it was her,"

"Not to mention that there's no record of her having any such powers before she vanished and reappeared - and Christina's one of many such cases. In the past three weeks? Over fifty, Scott, _fifty_ , criminals have vanished," Scott's eyes widened, sometimes Stiles thought Scott had the eyes of a wolf; large and bottomless and almost yellow in the right light.

"Now that's just creepy," Scott pointed out, his expression softening. "Stiles, dude, I don't know what's going on in this city, it's a giant hot mess but... I don't think you can take on something like this on your own. Maybe leave this one to the police?" Stiles appreciated Scott's concern, but he was dead wrong. "I can't do that. The police is _my dad._ The police is Mr. Patel, it's people I've grown up watching and idolizing. They won't be able to take out these metahumans with their ammo and their tanks," Stiles sighed.

"Plus, in case you haven't noticed _, I'm_ a genetically altered freak too. They're my own kind. I can beat them. Or... I have to try,"

Scott groaned. "I know, and I had to try too, to convince you otherwise. But I knew your do-gooder, Mother Teresa instinct wouldn't let you even if you wanted to."

Stiles managed a wry smile. "It's cute you care," he mumbled sarcastically. "Shut up," Scott muttered.

"Listen. I know you've been avoidy of She Who Must Not Be Named and her topic but I really think I need to lighten this big, dark cloud that's settled upon us, and it might convince you to come clubbing with me too. Can I say what I want to say?" he flashed him those big, puppy dog eyes that would probably melt all the glaciers.

"Fine," he responded dejectedly.

Scott brightened. "Lydia was asking about you, yesterday at school." Stiles felt something inside his stomach flip. "Really?" Scott nodded vigorously. "She was wondering where you were, why she hasn't seen you 'salivating from a distance' like usual at school. She asked if you were sick. I told her you had the flu. You're lucky I'm getting better at lying, my first instinct was to tell her you had Diarrhea," Stiles' eyes shot skyward, but he could already feel something dancing inside his chest, a mixture of awe and anxiety.

"You won't believe what else. Allison and I were planning to go dancing tonight and I invited her. She said yes and she said to bring _you_ ,"

Stiles lost all semblance of his own being. He was seeing unicorns and rainbows and butterflies and there were colors swirling behind his eyes when he closed them, like he was seeing the world with rose-tinted glasses. There was a fountain inside his stomach, and it was overflowing. Even his heart felt like it had lost weight.

"Lydia Martin," he spoke carefully, as to not break the fragile words. " _Lydia Martin_ asked for _me_ and then told you to bring _me_ to the club because she wanted to meet _me_?"

He had to emphasize on how wrong that sounded.

Scott grinned. "That's right. Looks like Miss Martin wants a piece of your cake,"

"Firstly, don't ever say that again. Secondly... Promise me this isn't some massive joke. Promise me this isn't April Fool's come early,"

Scott chuckled. "I promise."

Stiles had to catch his breath because his mind was on overdrive. He didn't understand why Lydia Martin wanted to see him. He didn't understand why she'd even care. He didn't understand anything. What he did understand was that she remembered his name.

"Clubbing doesn't sound like such a bad idea anymore, does it?"

xxxxx

Club Glitter was an oscillating sea of bright strobe lights, shimmering people and pulsating music.

Stiles felt like he was walking amongst the tides as the floor beneath him thundered and pounded to the command of the base. There wasn't much wiggle room, so they had to push past throngs of people whose faces were lost to the darkness, flashes of skin and swirling dresses and Mohawks and cleavage their only giveaway. It smelt like sweat and alcohol and deodorant and mascara.

"Isn't this great?" Scott shouted into Stiles' rapidly-deafening eardrum. "It's crowded and sticky," Stiles shouted back, as those were the only adjectives he could come up with in this scenario. Stiles' wasn't exactly the clubbing type, and he'd been to, like, three parties in his entire life (one of them was his grandmother's ninetieth birthday, so it probably didn't count), and he wasn't exactly good with crowds and noisy places.

Stiles had seen enough books and movies however, to know what happened at clubs. Scott slapped him across the back. "Go find Lydia. Get yourself laid. I'll see you around," before melting into the crowds with his girlfriend, Allison. Stiles considered leaving, it seemed absolutely impossible for him to be able to find Lydia in this mess, then again... What were his spidey senses for if not for searching for pretty girls in the midst of chaos?

Stiles' decided he needed a drink before he set out to scourge the club for her. It did occur to him that she might have bailed last minute, after all, Scott had never confirmed that she was actually there. He pushed past sweaty, horny people and finally made it to the flashy bar. There were glowing liquid drinks stacked up neatly behind the bartenders, Stiles was about to make an order when he spotted her towards his left, sipping on a blue drink with an olive in it. Even though his heartbeat was in tune with the clamorous rhythm of the music, he felt it swell and grow heavier like it was filled with bags of sand as he grabbed the empty bar stool besides her and perched himself on it.

He ordered a single malt whiskey for himself and avoided leaning against the counter top that was wet with spilled drink and melting ice and whatnot. Dry ice hung in the room like foggy weather, which was making it slightly difficult to see, but when he looked at her, his eyesight was crystal clear again.

God. Every. Single. Time. He. Looked. At. Her. All. He. Could. Think. Was. How. Could. Somebody. Be. So. Damn. Gorgeous.

Lydia hadn't noticed him yet. She was swirling her pink straw round and round in the azure pool of her alcoholic beverage. Her right hand held her head, fingers dipped into the mess of flaming curls that was her hair.

She was staring absent-mindedly at the bottom of her drink, so her mascara-tainted eyelashes dipped ever-so-slightly, and she was biting her lower lip a little. Lydia's plump lips looked like they were splashed with rose water in that lipstick shade, which complimented the baby pink dress she wore. It was another fantastic dress; plain but elegant. It was off-shoulder, and Stiles' thought he'd never been more endeared by someone in his lifetime.

Lydia always made him feel like she was the only girl worth having, like none of his accomplishments ever meant anything if he didn't get to taste the grapefruit of her lips. Looking at her hurt his soul, it pierced his entire being, and if looks could kill, he'd been slayed countless times.

Lydia was life itself; and everything he ever wanted from it.

She caught his gaze and pinned it there. Stiles wanted to look away but he felt like she was shooting arrows out of her emerald eyes directly at his own. He felt frozen. He didn't even dare blink. Lydia broke into a clumsy grin. "Stiiiileess," she murmured in a sing-song voice.

"Hey drunkie," he responded, in a manner of greeting. She pouted. "I don't get drunk." Stiles laughed. "I bet you can't say 'I saw Susie sitting in a shoe shop' ten times fast."

Lydia frowned, up for the challenge. "I saw Shuzy - I shaw - I saw," she bit her lip again, and nodded calmly, "I'm drunk."

The bartender handed him his drink and he took a languid sip, the familiar burn inside his throat made it feel like he was drinking liquid suns. "You're sooo nice, nice Stiles," Lydia grinned, her eyes cloudy as she raised a manicured finger and touched it to his nose. Stiles gulped, staring down at the tender tip of her finger atop his nose. She laughed again, her hand dropping to her side.

"Life would have been simpler if Aiden had been nice, if Jackson had been nice..." he wasn't sure she was aware that she was even talking out loud.

She seemed like she was in her own little bubble, unaware about the world that spun around her. "Thanks for coming," she turned to him once more, her voice slightly despondent.

"I didn't think you'd come," she added.

Stiles chuckled dryly. "You're kidding, right? If you called me to the moon, I'd be there."

Lydia giggled like a school girl, she looked younger than her age with that child-like gleam in her eyes and that wonder-filled laugh. " _Shhhhhhh_ ," she made a swooshing sound with her mouth and swayed a palm up in the air like a plane. "In a spaceship," she mumbled.

Stiles nodded. "Sure."

"Take me to the moon," she told him quietly. "Let's go," he intoned.

Lydia stared at him for a whole minute. He wasn't deluding himself, he was literally holding his breath, counting the seconds, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was that gaze that sent his mind into an incessant frenzy, it was that gaze that broke his heart in two, it was that gaze that was laser-like, cutting through his chest.

Stiles pursed his lips slightly to let out a wisp of breath and the next thing he knew Lydia was off the stool and taking his warm hands in her cool ones and dragging him onto the dance floor. Stiles wasn't sure if this was real or if he was walking in a dream but he just went with it until they were in the centre of the dance floor.

Underneath their feet was a rubric's cube of rainbow lights, blinking and spouting smoke in their eyes. Stiles felt something warm that began in his gut but spread through his entire being like a forest fire, to the tips of his toes and the insides of his throat. Lydia wrapped her arms around his neck again, like an echo from last week, and he gently put his arms around her hips. Lydia inched closer so he could smell the alcohol and cherries on her breath.

"You sure you want to dance?" he questioned stupidly. Lydia smirked. "You think we're dancing?"

 _That's totally not a cryptic answer,_ he thought as his brain began to reduce to soup, his body was in complete control now. Their dance began faster, more vigorous, body reacting to body, falling into sync with that.

He could feel his heartbeat, or maybe it was hers, he wasn't sure.

The music was so loud but he couldn't comprehend the words, he couldn't comprehend the notes, all he could comprehend was the girl glowing in front of him.

Everything was Lydia.

He felt her press a palm against his stomach and almost forgot how to breathe, stiffening like stone. Lydia was an inch taller than him in the wedges she wore, and her breath felt like an ocean breeze tickling his ear. "Relax," she whispered, and he shuddered. _Bite down the anxiety, you idiot! You're dancing with Lydia Bloody Martin!_

Stiles' initial surprise dispersed, and he became more aware of his surroundings, he fell slave to the rhythm of the music, of her. He grew more confident as his fingernails pressed into the skin of her back like the teeth of a shark. There was something thrilling about touching her, holding her, even looking at her.

He got a rush as if he were jumping off a sixty-storey building, or diving into the ocean, or free-falling in the heart of the sky.

Watching Lydia dance was like watching a live fireworks display. She moved so naturally, like she didn't even have to try, like the music had possessed her body and it was calling all the shots. It was beautiful, the way her eyes were on fire in the disco lights, the clinking of her skyscraper heels, the way she was getting tangled in her own feet.

Lydia's grip on him loosened and her head fell limply upon his chest. She muttered something that he couldn't quite catch and passed out against him. Stiles felt something in his chest that he couldn't name as he pushed a strawberry strand off her cheek.

This was something he could never let go of, she was something he didn't know how to.

xxxxx

He drove her home.

He'd found Scott miraculously in the midst of the jungle of people and told him he was dropping Lydia home because she was wasted. Allison gave him a death stare like you-better-not-molest-my-best-friend-in-her-sleep-you-creep as he managed a brave smile and hauled Lydia to the parking lot. The sky above had darkened, the atmosphere was musty and the pavement of the lot was damp, the smell of the rain invigorated his senses.

It looked like it had been drizzling while they were inside. Lydia was still passed out, so Stiles had to literally carry her bridal-style all the way to his jeep. She was heavier than she looked, but he managed to walk with her in his arms all the way to his jeep, with relative ease (sometimes super human strength was rewarding).

He had one of Lydia's arms around his neck while the other dangled to her side, her hair tickled his neck and smelt like coconut shampoo. He gently put her down on the seat next to his, balling up one of the hoodies he had in the back to serve as a head rest for her.

Stiles drove, and watched her sleep, and drove. He dodged all the holes and avoided all the roads that were under construction to make sure she slept fine. The whole time, all Stiles could think about was how close their bodies had been, her arm around his neck, her hand on his stomach, his hand running down her arms and then pressed into her back. The way she looked in the strobe lights, like a glimmering ballerina with hair like fire and eyes like the evergreen and steps like daisies.

Tonight was something right out of his dream journal, something he never thought possible. Stiles wasn't sure if this was life rewarding him or punishing him, on one hand it gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, he had a shot with the girl of his dreams. On the other, Lydia was just drunk and she wasn't really thinking and for all he knew she was seeing Jackson or Aiden and not Stiles, even though she said his name...

This was the second time he'd danced with Lydia. Two dances in two weeks. It didn't matter what life was up to, he was just grateful he knew what it felt like to spend a night with Lydia Martin - and it felt like the world was a far better place than it actually was.


	5. First Day On A Brand New Planet

**A/N: This is the chapter where shit hits the fan, and the chapter where most of you get your wish. It's funny I was hoping this would be a cool twist, but I guess it's a predictable one because a lot of you wanted this anyway so... I guess I'm not very good at jaw-dropping twists.**

 **PLEASE REVIEW FOR THE SAKE OF RAINBOWS AND STYDIA AND DYLAN O'BRIEN'S FACE.**

 **It literally only takes a minute of your time. I'm really appreciative of all of you who are following and favoriting but *please* consider reviewing as well? I really need your feedback to keep me going. So... no pressure or whatever, ;)**

* * *

 _"No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself were undone,  
no more crying like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden,  
no more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world."  
_

* * *

Lydia

 _In her dreams, she saw a hurricane._

 _There was darkness and then there was wind, tidal waves of wind, swirling around her, swathing her. Lydia opened her mouth to scream, it got lost in the hissing of the wind. Lydia could taste metal in her mouth; blood. Her eyes stung like there were tiny shards of glass clinging to her irises, blinding her vision. She was in the eye of the storm and then the storm was gone. Lydia was somewhere else when she opened her eyes. It was a large ballroom with wall-to-ceiling windows so she could see the familiar face of the moon and her counterparts, the stars right above her. The ballroom was drenched in moonlight, faceless people waltzed all around her, laughing and snickering and sipping on fine wine. There were motifs across the walls, of mermaids and werewolves and other mythical creatures she couldn't even fathom. The floors were shiny and made of golden marble. When she looked up again she was dancing with somebody, honeysuckle eyes that she would know anywhere but couldn't put a name to. Her dance partner smirked and leaned in towards her, he smelt like fresh flowers and caramel. "Don't you see? What you wish for you is what I wish for me," Lydia frowned, staring down at the purple dress she wore, splashed with blood stains._

 _"How did I get here?" she wondered aloud. Her partner simply twirled her around. "Does that hurt?" her partner extended a slender finger, pointing it towards her forehead. Lydia touched her head absent-mindedly, it felt sticky, and when she looked at her fingers, they were matted with blood. "Who are you?" Lydia asked. "Where am I? Why am I bleeding?" she bombarded him with questions she would never know the answers to. He smiled once more, he had lips made for kissing, lips like rose petals. "We all must bleed," he responded cryptically. Lydia wanted to scream again, her partner stepped away from her, she would disappear without his touch. There was laughter again, echoing, gnawing, pulsating._

"Lydia," his voice was gentler than a wind chime. "Lydia. Wake up," he repeated. Her eyes fluttered open and her vision sharpened. Stiles Stilinski was staring down at her, his expression a portrait of mystification and concern. "Jesus. Don't ever do that again. You scared me half to death," Stiles muttered, grimacing. Lydia frowned. "What...?"

"You were sweating and screeching and kicking, it was like a scene straight out of The Exorcist. I thought something happened to you..." Stiles explained.

Lydia yelped (even though it was un-Lydia-like to do so), and backed up from him a little, the fabric caught in her fingers was soft. They were in her bedroom. Lydia sighed, her pitter-patter heartbeat steadying as she got her bearings, and despite the fact that she felt like she'd been run over by a monster truck, she knew where she was now. It had been a bad dream. Nothing more than a bad dream. A very vivid, very terrifying, _bad_ dream.

"It was a... nightmare," she muttered, unable to meet his gaze. He nodded, scratching the back of his neck. Lydia watched him from the corner of her eye. He was wearing a black round-neck t-shirt that stuck like a second skin and dark jeans. Even his hair was kind of wild, like maybe he'd been driving with the windows down. The way he was dressed made him seem oceans apart from the Plaid King she was so familiar to.

"Why are you in my room?" Lydia questioned, her words slurring slightly.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Well, because I forgot to bring my magic carpet in order to fly away,"

Lydia groaned, pouting slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm just super out of it. How unflattering was I? No, wait, don't tell me. Or... well, just tell me, was I a total drunken disaster?" Lydia watched the corners of his lips lift into a slight smile. Those lips... Lydia was about to yelp again.

The dance partner in her dreams was Stiles Stilinski.

Okay. Perhaps her subconscious had been wasted too.

"You were dancing on tabletops and singing Hallelujah," Stiles responded in a deadpan.

Lydia shot him an are-you-serious look and he rolled his eyes. "You were fine. In fact, you were kind of adorable and then you passed out and I dropped you home." Stiles explained.

Lydia managed a smile despite the fact that it hurt to move muscles. "Thank you," Lydia said, shocking even herself at how genuinely she meant it.

"For _everything,_ " she added.

She wasn't sure what she meant. Perhaps she meant that he was there for her when nobody else was, perhaps she meant that he tolerated her at the dance party even when she wasn't very nice to him, perhaps she meant that he'd taken care of her and dropped her home after she'd utterly embarrassed herself. Stiles nodded and shot off the bed.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked as he turned on his heel to leave. "Are you leaving?" she asked stupidly. Stiles blinked, looking perplexed, like he thought he hadn't heard right.

"Yeah, I thought I should..."

"Or you could stay," Lydia said. "For a little bit, I mean."

Stiles gawked at her, she could tell he was striving to veil his awe but it wasn't quite working. He was gawking at her like she was something incomprehensible, a jigsaw puzzle, a rhyme. His lips parted a little as he took his time to respond. "Has hell frozen over or are you asking _me_ to stick around?"

Maybe her mind was turning to mush, maybe she wasn't a genius at all, maybe she just didn't want him to go so soon, maybe she just didn't want to be alone. Of course, she didn't tell him any of those things. "I'm asking you to offer me the pleasure of your company for a little while, I'm not asking you to make out with me," Stiles blinked again, before breaking into a slightly sardonic smile. Lydia registered what came out of her own lips and raised a palm in the air like she already knew what he was going to say. "Don't say it," Lydia began. "Don't ruin it."

The smile vanished, but he didn't looked like he minded - at all, as he gingerly approached her, almost as if he was approaching an alligator. He kicked off his shoes and Lydia shifted towards the other side to make some space for him on her bed. Stiles left over six inches of space in between them, and he kept his hands to himself the whole time. He stared down at his hands, fidgeting with the fabric of her soft sheets, with his legs spread out in front of him. She noticed how he kept staring at one fixed point, absolutely avoiding looking at her like he wasn't permitted to, somehow. Usually, Lydia would've found that frustrating, but right now, she was finding it kind of... endearing.

"So," he broke the silence first. "You want to paint our nails and braid each other's hair and talk about Ryan Gosling?"

Lydia rolled her eyes. Stiles sighed. "What's wrong?" he quizzed. Lydia stared at the purple walls of her bedroom, tracing non-existent patterns in them, they were adorned with posters, pictures and sparkly notes. "Why do you think something's wrong?" she replied. "Well... It's a Saturday night and you got totally wasted and now you're here with _me_ ," he pointed out.

Lydia didn't answer him, instead, she proposed a question of her own. "Where did you scamper off to on the night of the Spring Fling?" Something strange glimmered in his honey eyes, like a spark of a secret. "My dad wanted me home," he responded. "Something was going on right outside in the school hallway while we were all partying inside. There'd been some serious damage to school property, and a girl had been taken hostage. Did you know that?" Stiles looked surprised. "Oh?" Lydia made a face. "You didn't see anything... _suspicious_ , when you left?" Stiles shook his head no. "It must have happened after I'd already left,"

"Yeah, I was worried... something happened to you," Lydia chuckled dryly. "Yeah. Wouldn't it have been hilarious if something had?" Lydia found something frosty in his eyes as he spoke.

"I didn't mean it like that." Stiles' eyes found hers. "What did you mean it like?"

There was this way Stiles looked at her. It was indescribable. It was intense. Lydia was used to this familiar gaze, she'd felt it on her since her sandbox days. She recalled a little boy with a mop of curly brown hair, watching her with those big, curious hazelnut eyes, a little boy who was ready to give her the shiny silver coin he'd discovered buried in the sand. Lydia was astonished, as she reminisced about the amount of times Stiles had found a way to weasel into her life. When they were seven and Lydia's parents had gotten into a terrible accident, everybody at school was talking about it, she was the weird kid whose parents were in the hospital. Stiles had offered her his juice box and told her that there were angels looking out for her and that her parents would be okay. When she was fourteen, she'd gotten involved with some shady people and Stiles had covered for her at school during a locker inspection, almost getting suspended for a week in the process. Last year, when Jackson had forgotten to send out all the invites for Lydia's birthday party, Stiles had been the first one to show up, he even helped them get the word out again. Lydia had never in any of these situations paid attention to the boy, never had she appreciated him.

Hell, she'd barely been able to recall his name.

"He looks at you like you're the sun," Allison had told her once. "I mean in his eyes, it's like you shine brighter than everything and everyone else." Lydia had barely been listening then, but she had excellent memory. "I wish someone looked at me like that." Allison had muttered quietly.

Lydia looked up at him, there he was again with those eyes, by her side like a rock. "I mean it like I surprised myself a little," she admitted after some hesitation. Stiles arched an eyebrow.

"You mean you found yourself caring about someone other than your dog?" he joked, before breaking into a soft smile. "I _told_ you there's a human soul in there somewhere,"

Lydia punched him on the shoulder playfully, unable to control the grin that spread across her face to her cheeks. "I'm the most popular girl in school, Stiles. I've got to keep up appearances. Although... I've gotta ask, how did you always see through my bullshit?"

Stiles shrugged, leaning back a little as he got more comfortable and less stiff. "Because I always thought we've got a connection, unspoken, of course. Like two people together, who nobody thought would ever be together?" Lydia gawked at him, and he broke into an awkward laugh like it was meant to be a joke. "I used to say that to myself. I know, it's stupid, but to answer your question? maybe I'm just the smartest guy at school," Lydia tilted her head heedfully. "I doubt that."

"That we have a connection or that I'm the smartest being to ever grace this planet?"

"Both."

A smooth, comfortable silence seemed to follow that. Lydia realized that there was something she'd been itching to talk to someone about, and initially, Allison was supposed to be the first one to know. Allison, however, had been too busy prancing about Wonderland with Scott to remember her best friend, so she decided she would settle for the boy who'd listen.

"You want to hear something crazy?" Stiles gave her a look like _'duh'_ , and she began. "You know Spiderman, don't you?" Stiles stiffened slightly, like she'd just told him she'd slept with his mom or something worse. Lydia frowned. Stiles took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, messing them up even more. Lydia wondered if he knew how crazy his hair looked right now, but she thought it suited him. It made him look older... _better_.

"I mean, of course. Everyone knows Spiderman. I don't like the guy much though, to be honest. Seems like such a show-off; swinging about the city like he owns the place," he babbled.

Lydia tried not to feel offended. "Whatever. I was at Giovanni's with Aiden the night the Whirlwind and his psychopath friends assaulted the place and Spiderman saved my life," she went on. "I guess I wanted to talk about it to someone. It was... _beyond_ exhilarating, the way he swooped me up like a girl from a movie and the way we were soaring through the wind. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to _be_ Spiderman, you know," she mumbled elatedly.

"Dangerous," Stiles responded almost immediately. "I... I mean, thrilling probably, but his life can't be easy, staring death in the face every day," Lydia shrugged. "Maybe, but he _saves lives_. He makes a _difference_. It must be gratifying," Stiles looked like he was about to say something but she beat him to it. "You love comic books so much right? You should read the Spiderman ones," Stiles nodded, his expression rather opaque. "I'll give one a go."

"You okay?" he asked. Lydia turned to look at him, noticing how his hand was super close to her own, their fingers almost touching. He must've noticed it too, but he didn't take his hand away, and she didn't either. "Huh?" Lydia asked. Stiles bit his lip. "I mean, you almost got killed, right? You must have a newfound perspective on life."

Lydia mustered a mischievous grin. "I guess I do, I danced with you at that club, didn't I?"  
all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his cheeks.

"I was hoping you wouldn't remember that."

 _She remembered every breath-taking second._

xxxxx

Hangover mornings were the worst.

Especially when she woke up to dog drool, even though it was a better alternative to an ice bucket emptied on her head (what her mother used to do to get Lydia out of bed before they got the dog). "Jesus, Prada," she murmured as she lifted the small dog up and put her down on the floor. "What's got you all excited this morning, huh?"

Prada responded wisely to this in a series of barks.

Lydia needed coffee and an anti-depressant pronto. It was the only way to calm the jittering in her nerves which she was hoping was only a side-effect of the excessive alcohol and _not_ from any other events that may or may not have transpired last night. Lydia took a warm shower and changed into a comfortable outfit: her favorite floral romper, a cardigan and her uggs. She did her hair into a quick fishtail braid, did most of her make-up (she'd just have to touch-up in the car, multi-tasking was her best friend today), bounded down the staircase and headed out the door. She grabbed herself an espresso from the coffee shop on the way to school and downed a pill she'd carried with her. Miraculously, she made it in time for first period.

Lydia still felt like there were a dozen tiny elephants pouncing about in her head, but she didn't feel nauseated by the time third period was over. She was leaning against her locker and staring into space with her sunglasses on when Allison snuck up behind her. "Hey!" she shouted animatedly, Lydia's heart almost stopped. "So. Very. Loud..." she murmured, turning around slowly. Lydia pressed a finger to her own lip and shushed her friend. "Here's a suggestion: let's keep our shouting to a bare minimum. Shall we?" Allison broke into a small, sheepish grin. Lydia noticed that her best friend looked... perky, and excited, like the world was made of chocolate colored flowers and ponies. Lydia's jaw dropped before Allison could utter the words.

"You _vixen!_ " she chided with mock-disapproval. "You totally slept with Scott McCall last night."

Allison bit her lip. "Does it come off of me in vibes or something?" Lydia chuckled but it hurt to chuckle so it just sounded like she was coughing. "Practically. Also you have bed head and you're wearing the same clothes from yesterday and you still have morning breath and you're wearing your bra inside out," Allison actually gawked down to check. Lydia rolled her eyes. "So? How was it? Dreamy? Magical? Tell me everything! I want details,"

Allison grinned once again, she looked like a little girl on Christmas morning. "Yes and yes and later, it's too embarrassing over here. We have to talk but I actually wanted to talk to you about _your_ night, I know Stiles dropped you home,"

Lydia nodded. "He did and then we had passionate sex in my bedroom multiple times and then we rode off into the sunset on our multicolored baby unicorn," she couldn't help it with the sarcastic retort. Lydia didn't want to talk about Stiles Stilinski, she was still processing that insane dream she'd had about him. Allison shook her head irritably, "I should've known you cut the poor guy loose, I hope you at least let him down easy,"

"I did neither of those things." Allison seemed confused. "He dropped me home and then we sat on my bed and... _talked_ , for a little while and then he left. That's all that happened."

Allison was staring at her like she'd spouted another head or five. "What?" Lydia asked nonchalantly. "The Lydia I know doesn't _talk_ to guys. You _talk_ to your parents. You _talk_ to me. You either A: make out with boys or B: fall in love with them,"

"Gee, thanks. I didn't know that about myself," Lydia responded coldly. Allison sighed, "I don't mean it like that -" Lydia cut her off, sharply. "I know what you meant," she muttered.

"I have AP Bio to attend. I'll talk to you later,"

Lydia didn't want to sound so irritable, but she'd lost patience. What Allison was implying was too difficult to digest, but some part of her knew it was true. Lydia wasn't really the kind of person who could make friends with boys and stay that way, at least most of the time so she felt the strangest sense of something that could only be described as warmth when she spotted the plaid-clad boy across the hall after lunch. He was doing his usual thing, scampering about the school at Scott's heel, but he looked different. _Good_ different. Or perhaps he always looked like that and Lydia just hadn't noticed. He wore a brown button-down shirt with two buttons open at the front and his hair was still wild like it had been yesterday, like he rode the winds to school. His eyes were already scanning the crowded hallway to find her, and when he did finally catch a glimpse, the corners of his lips upturned in a small smile. It was the sweetest smile, it reminded her of a peaceful rainy afternoon and heartfelt conversations. Lydia couldn't help herself, she smiled back. It was only for the briefest of seconds, and his smiled dropped as Scott tapped his shoulder and he turned his head, disappearing down the hall.

Lydia ended up staring at the floor, wondering if the butterflies in her stomach had turned to dinosaurs.

xxxxx

Spiderman was on the news again.

Not that he wasn't on the news twenty-four seven, because he was, but something bad was going down, Lydia knew it. She'd just gotten back home from school when she spotted her mom in the living room, watching the news in awe. "Thank god you're home, baby," her mother said.

"There's some terrible things going on in this city. Sometimes, I feel like we should leave."

Lydia plopped down next to her mother on the couch and managed a wry smile. "We could raise penguins in Guam, but then we'd miss out on all the death and destruction going on here."

Lydia's mother simply shook her head like she didn't understand her daughter's humor as they watched in horror an on-going bank heist taking place not far from where they resided. There was a man who literally erupted in flame threatening to burn the place down, and he was holding hostages. He'd opened some of the vaults and stolen all the cash, but he was demanding something more - he wanted an audience with the bank manager. He made a statement that he had 'business' with the guy. Lydia was getting about a million updates per second on her smart phone, both twitter and her blog were blowing up with prayers and debates and live streams. The flaming man was into theatrics. "Spiderman's attempting to take care of it," her mother pointed out. Lydia sighed, hoping he would be okay despite the fact that he was a superhero who probably didn't need her prayers.

Lydia sat with her mom for a while, with her heart in her throat until her phone began to ring. It was Allison. Lydia was surprised that Allison had made the first move, usually after a tiff, it took Allison days to swallow her pride and apologize. Then again, it wasn't Allison's fault. Not this time. And it hadn't really been a tiff, either. Lydia picked up. "Hey, Allison. Listen I'm so sorry -"

"Get out back,"

"What?"

"Tell your mom you're going to bed early and sneak out of your house."

"Why?"

"We're waiting in your backyard."

"Allison? Wait? Hello?"

The line went dead. She didn't comprehend why she was being so awfully cryptic, but Allison had her no-nonsense voice on, so Lydia figured it was something urgent. Lydia sighed, "Mum. I'm really tired, I'm going to bed early. Good night." her mother nodded and Lydia kissed her on the cheek before heading towards the kitchen instead of her bedroom. Lydia's mother, thankfully, didn't notice as she was too engrossed with the television. Lydia snuck out through the backdoor and when she saw them, she felt her heart leap from her throat right into her mouth.

"Someone better start explaining before I use my defense mechanism," Lydia said warningly. Everybody knew her defense mechanism was screaming.

Denial was what hit her first. She wasn't seeing what she was seeing at all. She was simply still hungover and she was hallucinating - vividly. That was the only logical explanation. Allison and Scott McCall stood in front of her, but they looked universes apart from the people she knew. Allison was dressed like a warrior in an uncomfortable looking black catsuit and strappy knee-length boots Lydia didn't even know she owned. Allison looked like a Marvel comic book character, like she was dressed to kill. There wasn't an ounce of make-up on her face except for dark lipstick. Her hair was tied into a messy bun and... There were arrows rising up from behind her back. Sharp, acute, elegantly-crafted arrows. Lydia actually had to take a step back. Scott... She wasn't sure she could describe him. It was like he was wearing a Halloween mask. His face was all... lumpy and his nose seemed bigger and he had elf-like ears...

There was definitely more hair. Yeah. A hell of a _lot_ of _hair._

Scott's eyes were the color of blood, like beady red moons. He even seemed taller, and his nails were longer than her own.

Lydia felt overwhelmed, like she'd stepped into a new world. Allison's expression was instantly a sympathetic one. "Scott, I told you this was the worst possible way to reveal ourselves -"

"What are you scared of? It's the teeth, isn't it? I knew it was the teeth!" Scott had fangs.

She hadn't even noticed the fangs until he broke into an open-mouthed grin and she felt her knees go weak. They both looked at her expectantly, Allison extended an arm and Lydia almost tripped on her own feet. When she finally spoke, Allison and Scott both looked disappointed.

"Please tell me this is all some kind of a weird foreplay thing?"

xxxxx

"So you're a wolf," Lydia muttered, still shell-shocked.

"Technically, no, but also technically yes. I'm a werewolf. You know half-wolf, half -"

"I know what a werewolf is. I've seen Twilight."

"Hey! We're nothing like Twilight!"

"And you... You're... what, again?" Lydia couldn't recognize her best friend anymore. Allison's face was painted in strokes of guilt. "I'm a hunter descendant. My family - The Argents, come from a long line of werewolf hunters, dedicated to hunting creatures of the night," _Of course. Argent. The French word for silver._ Lydia managed a smirk. "Star-crossed lovers," Allison shook her head. "I don't hunt werewolves. I mean - only the bad ones. I mean... I've been helping Scott. I'm an archery enthusiast so we do what little we can to keep the city safe in our own way. Tonight, Spiderman's going to need our help," Lydia frowned. She wanted to believe Allison, but all she processed out of this was that her best friend in the whole world had been keeping a colossal secret from her all this time.

"Are you mad?" Allison questioned, knitting her eyebrows.

"Look at her face," Scott muttered as he drove, his eyes trailing hers from the rear-view mirror. Somehow... He'd gone back to looking human. "Of course she's _hella_ mad, she looks like she wants to kill us both in our sleep,"

"Mad is an understatement. You kept all this from me - why? And if you did, you must've had a reason to, so why tell me now? Why tonight?"

Allison and Scott exchanged grim looks. "I promise I'll answer all of your questions but first, we have got to help Spiderman," Lydia scoffed, before it occurred to her and her throat constricted in awe. "Wait a second. Do you guys know who Spiderman is?"

"He does," Allison sounded slightly irked. "He won't tell me."

Lydia didn't understand anything. "I'm not - Allison, I can't do this. Not until I have some answers." she muttered crisply. Allison exhaled loudly. Lydia thought she didn't have the right to sound so miffed, if there was anyone who felt like giant, fat question mark in that car, it was Lydia. "Lyd, please understand. I wanted to tell you, it's just... I couldn't blow Scott's cover. We were waiting for the right moment -"

"And you thought - _what?_ showing up in my backyard like a couple of serial killers in the dead of night in that flashy suit and with those crazy eyes was the right freaking way to do it?" Allison bit her lip, avoiding her best friend's accusatory gaze.

"We needed your help and we needed to bring you on board. It was a two-birds-one-stone kind of a thing,"

Scott shushed them both. "Guys! We're here."

Lydia had been so busy trying to have Allison spontaneously combust using nothing but her deadly gaze that she hadn't noticed anything around her. She peeked out the car window and was swept into a world of flashing lights and scampering crowds. Lydia could hear police sirens moaning loudly, the screams of a dozen-something people, tendrils of smoke like some kind of hazy creature lifting up into the clear skies and camouflaging itself between the clouds. The red lights drenched their faces in its hue. Lydia turned to gawk at her best friend.

"What exactly do you expect me to do? Manicure the bad guys to death?"

"We want you to scream,"

"Why? Anybody can scream."

Scott scoffed at that. "Not like you,"

"You want me to shatter glass and stuff with my pitch? You know that only happens in movies, right?" Lydia asked, perplexed as ever. Allison opened her mouth to speak but her words were drowned out by the sound of a clamorous explosion. Scott seemed alarmed. "I've got to go. You deal with her and catch up. Okay?" Allison nodded and Scott raced out of the car, slamming the door shut until he was just a spec amid the chaos. Lydia's heart was pounding in her chest, her ear drums felt like they were bleeding sounds.

"Oh my god. Did he just... ?"

"He can handle himself," Allison sounded frantic, like she was in a hurry to get this over with. Lydia studied her best friend's expression momentarily, and realized that she looked almost as terrified about all this as Lydia felt. The Cat Woman suit and the brave voice was just a facade. Lydia felt stupid for not noticing sooner, considering she was the queen of facades. Allison's fingers were quaking like autumn leaves in a storm, her lower lip quivered, her eyes were bloodshot rather than their natural light brown. Lydia melted like crushed ice. "Hey," her voice was softer now. "I didn't realize how shaken up you are."

Allison breathed a sigh of relief, her stance straightening like someone had just lifted an elephant off her back. "I didn't want to seem so damn fragile in front of Scott, but I'm just as upset about all of this as you are. Turns out my father was hiding a hell of a world from me. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but Scott's been so insistent on doing this. I'm not sure why, but I have a feeling he's close to Spiderman. Like, _really_ close," she explained. Allison held ghosts in her eyes, of buried pasts she didn't seem to be in the mood to converse about.

"What are we going to do now?" Allison questioned in a meek voice.

"We're going to help them. I'm assuming you guys want me to play as a distraction, right? While Scott swoops in and does his werewolf thing?" Allison nodded vigorously. "Yeah, but Lyd. You don't have to do anything you don't wanna do. It's dangerous. We weren't thinking. Scott was just so desperate... I don't want to get you hurt. If something were to happen to you... I wouldn't... I..." Allison couldn't even finish her sentence. "Shh," Lydia leaned in and wrapped her best friend into a heartening embrace, she stroked her hair and managed a smile as she backed away. "Spiderman saved my life. I know, I know. I'll tell you all about it if we make it out of this alive. Point is, if there's something I can do to help him. I want to do it. No questions asked."

"Are you sure?"

Lydia broke into a sparkling smile. "Positive. Now let's go show those boys how it's done."

* * *

 **A/N: So? What do you think? REVIEW to save a life! *creates prayer circle and sobs grossly with shaking, pleading hands***


	6. New York City's Angel

**A/N: I hope you like this chapter guys. It's an inevitable one and I hope I handled it properly. Remember that if you have a song request, feel free to message me and that if you want to know the name of any song used in this fanfic, just pop me a message and I'll let you know (or just google the lyrics, we live in the 21st century yanno ;)) . Also? If you have any ideas or requests you can mention it in your review or message me. I also accept constructive criticism because your feedback is literally everything to me.**

 **P.S PLEASE *REVIEW* WITH YOUR NICE WORDS AND PHRASES BECAUSE IT GIVES ME THE MOTIVATION TO WRITE FOR YOU & THE AZTEC GODS WILL REWARD YOU WITH SHOWERS OF BLESSINGS AND ROSES ok maybe not but it will make me feel better about my crap work so do a good deed, aid my charity case xD.  
**

* * *

 _This city is so pretty,_  
 _under moonlit skies we'll be hanging like a cigarette,_  
 _so stunning, start running,_  
 _tonight's like a knife would you cut me with your kiss?_

* * *

Stiles

There was smoke in his eyes but he would've known that she was there even with his eyes closed. Stiles joked about having a connection to Lydia, but he felt it. He felt her presence when she walked into a room, like her aura was breathing colors into his soul somehow.

He felt her there. In the midst of the thunderstorm surrounding him.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to drop everything, forty-nine hostages for one girl, and get her out of there before the lightning could strike her. He couldn't. He was Spiderman. He could not mess with priorities. Not even for... Stiles could've sworn he saw Allison amidst the fire. There was something inside his chest, something extremely sour, and his spidey sense was off the charts, wild like a black hole was going to open a rift and swallow everything whole, in one, swift, mighty gulp. There was no time.

He was running out of time.

"Tell me Spiderman. You're the protector of your people, right? So what is more important to you? The innocent lives of forty-nine people or the life of one useless speck of dust like him," the flaming man had lost the last functioning brain cell that he had and now wanted to trade the life of the hostages for the life of the bank manager (some guy he apparently had a beef with because of a sob story Stiles wasn't really listening to because evil monologues were best kept in the comic books, not in real life). They stood inside a decrepit bank building. There was smoke and debris everywhere, it was raining embers and it made the air around him stuffy; suffocating. The hostages were lined against a wall with their mouths, wrists and ankles gagged towards his left, the bank manager stood towards his right in pretty much the same tragic position.

Conversing with the flaming man was like talking to a dude on fire. The man must've been wearing an inflammable material of cloth because he was clad in a black t-shirt and pants, but his head, hands and feet were aflame. He had eyes like burning suns and menace on his mind.

Why did Spiderman always get stuck with the most mentally unstable ones?

"I've got a better idea. You let the hostages go, you let the manager go and we can settle this with Froyo and a lengthy discussion about our feelings. What do you say?"

"I'll burn your city to a crisp!"

"Huh. I thought that would work. _Everybody_ loves Froyo,"

The Flaming Man sent a fireball his way, but Spiderman dodged it, leaping into the air and yet landing on his feet gracefully. He put on a burst of speed and landed a few punches across his arms and gut, but it did nothing to injure him, only annoy him.

The Flaming Man attempted to throw some punches of his own, but Spiderman side-stepped, dodged and doused his flames in a mess of webs. Spiderman lost track of time, he wasn't sure for how long they drew their battle. All he could think was that he had to save those people and he had to save Lydia Martin. Nothing else mattered.

He'd beat the darkness, he'd beat the light. He could handle a little heat. All quite literally.

That was when he heard the growls. At first, Stiles felt like his own ears were betraying him, even The Flaming Man fumbled, gawking up and seeming rather floored. The growls sounded out again, louder this time - kind of like King Kong on steroids. That was when the black shadow of a figure leapt into the action, brushing against Spiderman and landing upon The Flaming Man's chest, who was, incidentally screaming. "Get off of me!"

Spiderman was about to leap right back into the fight but he recognized those trousers and that sweater, he recognized the back of his head... even in the midst of war. He actually felt dizzy, following some swift, deep breathing techniques to keep from a panic attack. Spiderman was supposed to be flawless. Spiderman didn't have ADHD. He didn't have panic attacks.

It was definitely Scott. Or this was his evil twin. Either way, it looked like Scott.

That's when he spotted Allison towards his left, in a - was that a _freaking catsuit?_ She was letting the citizens free and leading them out of the place. In the corner stood Lydia, she looked like she was becoming a part of the flames that enwreathed her. Eyes like emerald fire. Lips parted in awe. She looked brilliant. Like a Greek Tragedy waiting to happen.

That's when the overwhelming fury and dread swept in like a tidal wave of agony.

WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL WERE THEY DOING HERE?

Were they on a suicide mission? Did they want to get themselves killed?

Spiderman heard Scott scream. The Flaming Man had slipped out from under him, he was tossing fireballs his way like they were Frisbees.

Spiderman swooped in, only to be rendered almost-deaf by a blood-curdling scream that probably took the entirety of New York City by storm. He wasn't sure if it was just his rattled nerves or if the ground actually shook, but The Flaming Man's flames dissolved and he was an ordinary man again.

Well... temporarily.

Spiderman leapt at the opportunity, he quickly swathed the man in spider webs and rushed outside to alert the police, who'd come prepared with a fire truck and a hose. They kept him damp as they took him in for questioning. When Spiderman got back, Allison had freed the remainder of the hostages and the bank manager as well. She was down on her knees, her expression a nightmare.

Lydia was rushing towards the huddled silhouettes, and Stiles' vision blurred like there was smoke in his eyes all over again.

Stiles felt like he was going to throw up when he took a look at the boy in her arms. Scott. His best friend. Looking very dead.

xxxxx

Spiderman approached his friends.

He couldn't blow his cover but if Scott was hurt, if something happened to Scott...

God. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Allison was weeping. Lydia sounded like she was trying not to cry, too. "Allison. Give me some space. Let me check. I've studied med, remember?" Allison nodded as Lydia leaned forward and checked Scott for a pulse. "He's alive," Lydia sounded astonished herself. "His pulse is rapidly slowing, we've got to get him to a hospital immediately, and he's received some major third-degree burns, but he's alive..." Allison looked apprehensive, some sort of silent understanding passed between them.

Neither of the girls even noticed Spiderman towering above them like a lean, awkward red-blue stick figure.

Lydia muttered something under her breath and Allison nodded shakily, stumbling to her feet and yanking her phone out of her pocket. Spiderman crouched down so he could level his face to hers. "I can get him to the hospital faster than the police," he offered.

Lydia looked up at him for the first time that night. There were supernovas burning in her eyes.

Damn it. That gaze could scar black hearts. It could melt glaciers.

"Scott is your friend, isn't he?"

Spiderman nodded, and leaned in to take his best friend in his arms. That was... That was until his eyes fluttered open and he began to cough. The eyes that opened were not Scott's regular chocolate brown but a bright, searing red.

Spiderman almost backed away in horror. Lydia arched an eyebrow at him. "So you didn't know either. Welcome to the club."

Stiles frowned, glad for once, that Lydia couldn't see him. "I'm sorry?" he tilted his head in confusion. "You're in for a shock of a lifetime," Lydia responded calmly.

That's when Stiles registered the other differences in his friend's anatomy. Scott had elfin ears, razor-sharp claws and the world's craziest side-burns.

His jawline was even more uneven than usual.

"God," Scott murmured. "I smell like a kebab."

Allison almost dropped her smart phone when she heard his voice, racing to him and collapsing on top of him in an attempt to embrace. Stiles wasn't sure what he was seeing. Scott's skin had been charred beyond recognition in some places but it was already healing as if by magic, and somehow Allison's weight didn't seem to bother him at all. In fact, when Stiles glanced at them again, Allison was straddling him and they were kissing. Vehemently.

Gross.

Lydia scrunched up her nose. "Do you two have to leave a trail of sexual tension wherever you go?" when neither of them responded, she rolled her eyes and got to her feet. Stiles watched her as she brushed dust off of her dress.

"Great. I've got barbecued debris all over my Ralph Lauren."

When Lydia looked up from her dress, curiosity ran wild across her features. She took a few bold steps towards Spiderman so that she was standing right in front of him. He didn't say anything. His feet were superglued to the ground and he was afraid to breathe. Lydia raised an arm tentatively, up to his face, cautiously like she was afraid he would bite. She almost touched him, her palm hovered over his cheek. Stiles thought that in that moment, his heart felt like unnecessary weight inside his chest. Lydia cocked her head to the side, slightly.

There was dust caught in her dark eyelashes, her lips broke into a small, overwhelmed smile, she was looking at him like he was something she couldn't fathom: an unknown universe, an untouched island, a conundrum. It was raining cinder everywhere, like a sunset had burst like a star upon them, smoky-topaz leaves of flame, sizzling to the touch.

"Who _are_ you?" she breathed, light glimmering behind her eyes.

Stiles felt his body reacting to their proximity before there was anything he could do about it. He felt his knees buckle underneath him slightly, like they only just got the memo. He felt his stomach tingle like a swarm of honeybees were caught inside. He felt his chest ache. There was more than a few inches and a layer or two of clothing keeping him from her. Yet he could wrap his arms around her within seconds, breathe her in, swallow her whole...

 _Dude. Snap. Out. Of. It.  
_  
Sometimes Stiles' brain had to remind his body that it was still the one in control.

He took a deep breath and let it out, when he looked around the decrepit building, there was nobody but the three of them around. The police were probably too busy with the injured victims and The Flaming Man to bother with the property damage just yet. Stiles wasn't thinking, or maybe he was thinking too much.

Either way, it hadn't been something he'd planned. He knew he would regret it later, he knew he would regret it like hell. In the heat of the moment though? It made more sense than anything else in his life ever had.

Stiles yanked off the mask and mustered a small smile.

"Ta-da," he muttered in lame, faux excitement. Lydia looked like she was going to pass out. Her eyes almost rolled back into her head and she had to blink about a thousand times, like there was a layer of invisible frost across her pupils, interrupting with her vision. Immediately, to his heartbroken disappointment, she retaliated by taking a large step back.

He would remember that expression on her face for a long time. He knew that now. It was going to haunt him at night. He would see it burning behind his closed eyelids. Lydia Martin, radiant as ever, standing out like a horizon amongst all the destruction. Eyes wide as marbles, mouth hanging open like she wanted to take a bite of the air around them, cheeks stained scarlet.

" _Stiles?_ " she sounded flabbergasted. "Are you kidding?"

"Does he look like he's kidding? Sorry for the scare, dude. I just couldn't let my boy go off to take on the world all on his lonesome," Scott had woken out of his love daze. Stiles' gaze shifted from Lydia's face to his friend's hairy one. "Whoops," he closed his eyes, took a breath, and he was back to his semi-normal looking self.

Stiles wanted to yell at him. He wanted to chastise them all. Or at least say something incredibly sarcastic or witty. Instead what he said was something stupid.

"Dude. You're a werewolf,"

"And you're a spider. The world's evolving."

"But dude, you're a werewolf."

"I thought we established that?"

"Hey! I'm _not_ a spider! I've simply got the speed and strength of one."

"Well. I'm part-wolf."

"God. You're a freaking werewolf. Why was I not the first person you told? When did this even happen? You know, I always thought you had wolf-like tendencies -"

"Guys," it was Allison. "I hear footsteps."

Stiles pulled his mask back on. "Meet me in the lot behind our school. All three of you."

Spiderman leapt out into the street and vanished behind an on-coming vehicle.

xxxxx

Stiles was leaning against his blue jeep, his fingers drumming rather restlessly against the hood.

It was a cold night. The wind that rustled the trees and made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end felt like the breath of a demonic creature. The city sky was a sea of smog, shrouding the stars and the moon from view. The lot was deserted except for a black cat that watched him with yellow eyes from under a car. The sounds of distant traffic, crickets humming and his own shaky breathing was all he could hear. The night air smelt slightly like burnt tires.

He'd taken a little too much Adderall on his way to the parking lot, he couldn't help but tap his foot incessantly against the pavement and pitter-patter his fingers against his the hood of his jeep. He was majorly stressing. It was proving impossible to wrap his head around the fact that his nerdy, dorky, ridiculous best friend Scott McCall was a creature of the night, a bloody werewolf - with all the works; dripping fangs and hairy backs and howling at the moon. And that his girlfriend was some kind of badass superwoman-type archer, and that they had brought Lydia into their insane crusade.

He didn't want Lydia in this. He wanted Lydia universes away from this. He didn't want her on board the crazy train, because once you got on, there was no getting off. It was too late, and he could already imagine Lydia smacking him across the face for wanting to 'keep her safe'.

"I'm a woman, not the insecure neurotic this society begs me to be. I can handle myself and I certainly don't need a boy protecting me. I'm not a damsel in distress, I don't need saving, and _you_ do not get to call the shots on what I may or may not be affiliated with. Do you understand?" Lydia growled, with ice in her sea green eyes.

Sometimes, he hated it when he was right.

They arrived about five minutes after he'd gotten there. Allison had changed into a torso-hugging tank top and a pair of ripped jeans, her hair loose in a mess of chocolate locks. Scott had scars across his cheeks and arms, but he looked really good for someone who had begun to resemble a Walking Dead extra only about an hour ago. He was clad in a t-shirt, baggy jeans and a sweater, his hair was damp from a recent shower.

Stiles was glad they'd cleaned up. It was scary seeing them 'in form'. It was why he'd changed into a comfortable white round-neck t-shirt, a jacket and blue jeans, to remind them, and himself, that he was just regular Stiles Stilinski.

Lydia wore her favorite emerald coat and a pair of four-inch heels (from her 'casual' collection), her strawberry curls were up in a careless bun. Stiles almost felt like tugging at one of the loose strands and bringing down the entire bun in a waterfall of splashy red ringlets.

Lydia had been the first one to cut through the silence with her knife-like words. She'd demanded to know exactly why he was doing all this, and then why he hadn't told her about it. He'd explained it was to protect her, and being the feminist that she was, she began to put him in his place. Stiles had broken into a smug smile because he'd done it on purpose. It was absolutely adorable when Lydia got mad. The way her nostrils flared and her eyes held firestorms; it made her look a little like an avenging angel.

"Yes ma'am," he replied coolly. Lydia groaned, tugging her designer coat closer to her neck and looking away from him like she couldn't stand the sight of him; which hurt a little more than her ramblings.

Allison was gawking at him in awe as well. Like she was meeting an extraterrestrial.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, examining him. "I mean, I never thought much of you but dude - you're pretty awesome," she shook his hand.

"Really though? What you're doing for the city? It's amazing. _Thank you_ ," Stiles couldn't help the blush that made its way to his cheeks at Allison's rose water words. Scott wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Just... On a scale of one to ten, how pissed would you say you are?"

"Eleven."

Scott nodded, seeming unsurprised. "Figured."

"You could've told me dude. You were literally the first and only person to know about my superhero identity, you owed me this -"

Scott took a step in front of his girlfriend and sighed. "I know. I know, I'm sorry. I just... I didn't want you to have to worry about me." Stiles laughed. "Have you met you? I worried about you even before I knew you were a werewolf, dude. I always will."

They hugged it off. "Please kiss," Lydia muttered in a bored tone as she examined her perfect cuticles. "Your bromance is so extremely amusing."

Stiles met Lydia's eyes, she looked like she wasn't done with him. Stiles gave Scott The Look. It was something they'd fabricated when they'd become best friends, The Look usually meant that one of them had dibs, but this time he was using it to tell Scott to leave him alone with Lydia for a while. He understood and nodded with a small smile. "Talk to you later, man," he turned around, wrapping an arm around Allison's waist and steering her away with him.

Once they left, Lydia was still standing there, her gaze riveted on him.

Under normal circumstances, the fact that Lydia had been staring at him for over twenty seconds would've been enough to melt him into a big puddle of Stiles but at this point, all he wanted was to explain himself. Lydia wasn't looking at him with love or interest. She was looking at him with accusation. Her expression was stained glass and poison ivy.

"You're mad," Stiles stated. Lydia blinked. "You think I'm mad?"

"You sure sounded mad when you got here. Like... _The Hulk mad_ ," Stiles muttered. The icy glass in front of Lydia's pupils seemed to shatter. "I was mad, but then I had time to process all of this. It's still... very hard to digest but... contrary to popular belief, I'm not a total bitch," she muttered. "I never thought you were a bitch," Stiles added immediately.

 _Let's not mention the one time I called you one._

Lydia smiled at that. "Wow. There should be confetti and cotton candy,"

Stiles tilted his head at her in confusion. "I've just been dreaming about this moment forever. I wanted to scope out who Spiderman was ever since he - _you,_ saved my life that night. Stiles, I don't get it... You asked me to stay away from you. I prodded you to tell me who you were and you didn't spill. Why?" Stiles stared down at his feet, the pavement suddenly stealing his interest. "And don't tell me it was just to keep me out of danger again,"

"I know. It doesn't line up with my massive crush on you but I didn't want you to like me just because I'm Spiderman. You know? To be honest... _Everybody_ likes Spiderman. Seriously, Stiles Stilinski may be an amateur spaz but Spiderman's a real hit with the ladies," Lydia chuckled at that, her laugh reminded him of wind chimes.

"Hey," he murmured, all of a sudden. "Want to see something cool?"

Lydia seemed hesitant at first, but then gulped and nodded. Stiles offered her his hand, a pale, shaky palm reaching out in nervous anticipation. Lydia's gaze dropped to his outstretched hand, gingerly, she took it. It felt like sparks. It felt like warm paper and crushed velvet. Stiles' heart dropped into his stomach as he squeezed it and whisked her away into the night.

There were so many things he'd wanted to show her. He would finally get the chance to do so. Stiles tried to think about anything other than how warm her hand was against his cold one, other than the fact that her small hand fit so perfectly in his slightly larger one, other than the fact that touching her - even the slightest shred of contact, drove him crazy. "Hold on to me," he requested. Lydia rolled her eyes at that. "You are _so_ enjoying this," she muttered but wrapped her arms around his neck submissively, her chest pressed to his and her eyes squeezed shut.

They shot up into the sky as he aimed a web at the back of a building. "Won't people see?"

"I'm going to take a short cut."

Within seconds, they were soaring through the skies, landing on buildings and racing across streets, swooping and sliding and gliding. Stiles could feel her heart racing, an echo of his own bullet train heartbeat, her lips were pressed against his collarbone. "Open your eyes," he whispered into her ears as they landed safely on the decrepit building Stiles always made a pit stop at, the one with the magnificent view. Lydia's right arm fell back to her side, but her left hand was still clasped with his.

"There's so much to see, Lydia. The city lights at night glittering beneath you like a blur of colorful fireflies, the stars on a clear night, the view of the Statue of Liberty at the corner of your eye, the skyline adorning the Atlantic, zigzagging across a world of lighted windows and traffic and people and life," he watched her drink in the smoggy city view as he narrated his experience.

It was spectacular at night. The Chrysler building and the Empire State building towards their left, the Hudson River gleaming like a ribbon of silver lava in the distant north. Thousands of people minimized to ants, toy cars and buses and bikes whooshing across the illuminated streets, the grey clouds watching everything abovehead.

"It's..." she was at an utter loss for words, her jade eyes reflecting the city's delights. "It's _mesmerizing,_ " she breathed. Stiles couldn't help but think about how he'd put that exhilarated expression on her face, how her heart had been racing because of him. Sure, Stiles would've wished for something like that under very different, very un-platonic circumstances, but this would do him just as well.

He would keep that entranced expression of hers with him on his coldest nights, he wasn't much of an artist, but he wanted to paint those big, curious eyes of hers, or at least take a snapshot. He took a picture of her in his mind. He would go to sleep at night with that image of her shining like a beacon inside his mind's eye. Stiles lead her towards the edge of the building and perched himself down, allowing his legs to dangle aimlessly in the air. Cautiously, Lydia slid off her heels and left them on the side.

Stiles shot her a look.

"What? I don't want to drop a Louis Vuitton on some poor, unsuspecting stranger's head."

She said as she took a seat beside him, their elbows brushing slightly as she made herself comfortable. Lydia's bare feet and pink toe nails swung back and forth against a backdrop of a shimmering rainbow of a city below.

"I've always loved New York. Everything's bigger and brighter. Don't you think?"

"Before Spiderman, it made me feel small and insignificant. Now... I'm seeing the appeal."

Lydia rolled her eyes, nudging him lightly in the shoulder with her own. "Of course you are. You're practically a celebrity." Stiles smiled teasingly. "I know right? Someone told me they even sell my action figure," Lydia smirked. "Yeah. They're pretty crappy though. Made in China."

Stiles laughed, Lydia sighed. "Seriously though... I feel like I'm never going to stop being in your debt. Thank you for always being there and for saving my life and for showing me the wonders of your world," Stiles' smile diminished, his expression hardening. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat. You don't have to worry about thanking me."

 _I'm just blessed by the light of your presence._

"If you ever need a kidney. I've got one with your name on it. No questions asked."

Stiles grinned at her. Lydia was staring at him with a strange look in her eyes. The smoky eyeshadow she'd applied highlighted her pupils, making the forest green stand out like neon. "Listen," she whispered. "Jokes apart. I know it sounds stupid but I've always wanted to tell Spi - _you_ , that what you do for the city is admirable and wonderful and it takes a brave heart. I know that people don't thank you enough, but I think that you're a hero in the truest sense of the word. You've begun a legacy that's going to leave an impression on this ginormous city. You know that? You have touched lives, you have saved lives and your name will be carved on rock and spray-painted in Graffiti and lighted up on billboards. You are New York City's guardian angel, and the city is going to _remember._ "

Stiles felt his heart sizzle inside his chest at her words. He'd gotten a lot of praise from a lot of people, but nobody's words had ever tugged at his soul like that. It made him feel proud of himself, something which he rarely ever was. It made him feel like what he was doing here really meant something, it made him feel like he was not going to be forgotten, that his insane crusade maybe wasn't so insane at all. Lydia saw him in a different light, and she was making him see himself in the same light. Stiles let out a shaky breath like there were bits of paper stuck in his windpipe. "Th - Thank you..."

Lydia was still looking at him like he was something else, someone else.

"You're looking at me differently," Stiles pointed out. "I knew you would."

She looked miffed for a moment, before scoffing loudly and making him feel stupid for saying that. " _Of course_ I'm looking at you differently,"

"I didn't want you to."

"Why? Why is looking at you differently a bad thing?"

Stiles attempted to explain, even though he was sure she wouldn't understand what he meant. He stared out at the clouds that were beginning to shift drowsily, their edges glowing a brilliant silver as they parted to make way for tonight's crescent moon. He drummed his fingers over his thigh as he began. "You have that look in your eyes that scares me, you're not even seeing Stiles Stilinski anymore. All you see is Spiderman, flawless, fan-freaking-tastic Spiderman. A demigod. An avenger. A superhero. You don't... I mean, at least when you hated me, you saw me as a person,"

"I never hated you." Lydia admitted. "I disregarded you, but there's a difference."

"Right. Well... I don't want you to fall in love with me because I'm Spiderman, you know?"

Lydia broke into stale laughter. "Hold your horses, Romeo. Who said anything about falling in love?" Stiles bit the inside of his cheek, suddenly feeling there was a tiny creature inside his stomach, prodding at him with a stick. "I... I don't know. I meant -"

"Relax. I know what you meant."

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, slightly exasperated. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"What?" she shot him an innocent frown. "You know the effect you have on me. You know that even a single sentence that falls out of your mouth can cause a civil war in my mind and drop an atomic bomb on my stomach and you like that you can make me feel that way."

Lydia's smile dissipated with his words. He hadn't meant to say it like that, but the words had just shot out of his mouth. He never understood why he got like that around Lydia, like he couldn't contain his own feelings.

Stiles wanted to amend what he said, instead, he felt like he couldn't speak.

Lydia was still staring at him, and he hadn't exactly looked away either. Their faces were merely centimeters away. Lydia's breath smelt like strawberry bubblegum and her mixed fruit perfume reminded him of a summer's day. He tore his gaze off her eyes, leveling it down to her plump, lipstick stained lips. Her lower lip stuck out under the upper one slightly, almost flirtatiously. The bun had come undone because of the wind, bringing down an avalanche of auburn curls that framed her pale face almost symmetrically. Her hair looked almost silvery red when splashed in moonlight, like the hue of ripe cherries and blooming roses.

Stiles was aware of every breath she took. He was aware of his heart beating as it would have if he had been free falling. Stiles leaned in a little, something which he would later blame on involuntary muscle reaction.

Their noses almost touched.

Good god, he wanted to kiss her.

Every nerve in his body itched for contact with hers. The need was almost indispensable, like he wouldn't be able to survive without it. He'd dreamed of kissing her a dozen times, he'd seen her face in improbable places, he'd held her in his arms. He still wasn't prepared for this. He thought he would spontaneously combust before they even kissed. Those lips whispered threats, like a radioactive spider bite all over again. He didn't care.

Just when she closed her eyes and he felt like she was going to kiss him. Just when his lips briefly lingered over hers... Lydia's eyes fluttered open once more and she took a shaky breath, her head jerking back immediately. Lydia looked like she'd been jarred out of a trance. Stiles averted his gaze, gawking down at his lap, unable to meet her eyes. He felt his heart rate steady. "I'm sorry," she muttered.

"You don't have to be." He responded, in a hushed tone.

Just because he was Spiderman, he couldn't pretend she wasn't still totally out of his league.

Sometimes she reminded him of a Greek goddess.

She didn't belong to him. She belonged to herself.

* * *

 **A/N: SOO? WHAT DID YOU THINK? Sorry for the kiss tease, I know, I hate me, too. But remember, patience is a virtue and these two aren't going to keep that virtue for much longer. ;) Also... Don't forget to drop a review! Ily. :***


	7. The Adventures of Daphne & Scrappy-Doo

**A/N: Thanks for all the lovely feedback to everyone who reviews. A special thanks to alphades for the lovely, honest feedback, your concerns have been noted. Regarding those, the whole battle scene wasn't drawn out because I didn't want the chapter to go on for too long, and because it was all supposed to be a quick blur. Future chapters, especially towards the end of the story, will contain some major 'battles' so that addresses that issue. About the fallout with Scott, I played it for laughs on purpose, Stiles doesn't truly register all this until later, remember Stiles Stilinski often uses humor as a coping mechanism, but fastforward a couple chapters, Stiles will be having a serious talk with Scott about all of it, and there certainly *will* be repercussions.**

 **So... Uh? Sorry to be a broken record player but PLEASE PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE REVIEW WITH YOUR FEEDBACK? I'll send you a cardboard cut-out of Dylan O'Brien, just message me your address. Just kidding. Don't message me your address. That would be unwise. I could be a serial killer. I'm not saying I am one, but... No, no, I'm not. Definitely not. You have nothing to worry about, nothing at all... I think. Hehe.**

* * *

 _Which one of us will look away?  
_ _Say the words that we don't say?_ ** _  
_**

* * *

Lydia

His words had held hypnotic properties.

It wasn't her fault. He'd utterly astonished her, caught her off guard, torn down her unbreakable facade with his bare hands. Stiles had always been vocal about how he felt about her, but she couldn't recall him ever being this... _bold_ about it. Lydia hadn't been sure what to do when their faces had suddenly gotten so close to each other. She'd felt like she was standing on shore, watching a tidal wave approaching and her feet were sinking into the sand; her brain wasn't functional and all she could do was gawk helplessly.

There were all these emotions suddenly bubbling up to the surface, emotions she'd never fathomed before, emotions she didn't even know existed. Stiles had gotten too close. His breath smelt like clove and mints. There were shooting stars in his eyes; they were golden masterpieces in the moonlight. There were beauty spots adorning his lower cheek and the side of his face. Lydia was close enough to count every discernible vein on his neck. She was close enough to watch his tendons flex and when those cupid's lips had almost brushed against hers, she'd gained some semblance back. Lydia Martin was many things, but she didn't like leading people on. Of course, that was just the excuse she was going to use.

The truth was rather bittersweet. Lydia wasn't afraid of what he felt for her, she was afraid of what she felt for him in return.

She refused to kiss him, not until she was absolutely sure.

Before silence blanketed them again, Lydia scooted closer to him and dropped her head on his shoulder. He stiffened for a few seconds, but eased into it, even wrapping an arm around her waist. "You know what?" she intoned.

"What?" he murmured hoarsely, without straining to look at her.

"I still can't believe that you're Spiderman."

"Neither can I."

They spent the next twenty minutes in comfortable silence, watching the glimmer of traffic and headlights and listening to the city sounds and eyeing the towering skyscrapers that itched to touch sunshine and starlight. In that moment, with her head nuzzled against him, and her eyes scanning the world, she thought about all of the things that had been, all the things that hadn't been.

And all the things that were yet to be.

xxxxx

As Lydia walked to her car on that rainy Tuesday morning, she felt like she was seeing the world in new colors, colors that nobody had even defined yet.

Everything felt raw, different. Lydia felt more aware of the world around her. The wake-up routine had been normal, she was dressed in a blue long-sleeved t-shirt and a black miniskirt complimented by wedges. She made a braided headband in her strawberry-blonde hair and wore her regular amount of make-up. She grabbed some breakfast and began to drive to school. Lydia began wondering about everything. She wondered if the birds perched on the trees were secretly dragons. She wondered if that guy in the trench coat crossing the road in a frantic hurry was secretly a crime-solving detective. She wondered if every spec of red or blue was Spiderman sailing the winds like water. She wondered if there were wolves sauntering about the shrubbery.

Lydia had been curious all her life, but she'd never been _this_ curious.

After last night with Spider - _uhm,_ Stiles (it was still difficult digesting that), she felt like she'd understood a little more about the world around her. She realized that in her rush, she'd forgotten to snag herself an anti-depressant, so she opted for coffee instead before heading to school. Allison was waiting for her by her locker as she approached. She looked like she hadn't slept all night. "Give me that," she snatched the espresso out of her hands and downed it in one, languid gulp. Allison was dressed in an oversized orange t-shirt and plain blue jeans, her hair was up in a high pony and her mascara and lipstick was rather haphazardly applied.  
"Okay. What's with the Ugly Betty look?" Lydia asked, raising her eyebrows.

Allison ran a hand through her hair. "I couldn't sleep a wink last night, and when I finally fell asleep - at like, six in the morning, my dad woke me up thirty minutes later and told me to get to school. I'm pretty sure I had a shower and _then_ remembered to brush my teeth," she sounded exhausted. Lydia's ridicule melted into concern for her friend. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"I've been worried about Scott. I know he's the best friend in the world and that he wants to make sure Stiles doesn't lose limbs on his epic journeys to save the world everyday but I don't want to see him hurt. He almost died last night, Lyd. I told him he's got to step back a little, I told him Stiles knows what he's doing, and he didn't listen. We had our first argument."

Lydia frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that," Allison shrugged it off. "I don't want to talk about it. I _do_ need to think about anything other than Scott so I'm going to take a leap here and say that you were out with Stiles last night. What? Now that you know he's Spiderman you're suddenly into him?" Lydia bit her lip at the accusation. "Of course not. That would be petty," she sighed. If she was being honest, she didn't have a frigging clue about what she felt about Stiles. It wasn't true that she was feeling something for Stiles now that she knew who he really was. The fact remained that there had been some hazy feelings there for quite some time, ever since that night at the Formal. Lydia had penned down the strange dream she'd had in her dream journal, she still couldn't make heads or tails of it, but she knew it was important. Like her subconscious had secrets it was hiding from her.

"It would but I really can't blame you. It's really weird knowing that I've had erotic dreams about _Stiles_ and that I've begun a fan club for _Stiles_ and that I've been drinking from a freaking _Stiles_ coffee mug for the past year," Allison mumbled, grimacing. "Yack. I thought Spiderman would look like the love child of Tom Cruise and Johnny Depp or something,"

Lydia broke into a teasing grin. "You have erotic dreams about Spiderman?" Allison shrugged nonchalantly. "Everybody does. Don't you?"

Lydia's heart plummeted like it was on a broken elevator shaft at the thought of the fan following Stiles had. The boy was beginning to make sense to her. At school, nobody paid attention to Stiles Stilinski, he was like this plaid-clad puppy who followed Scott the Jock around all day and had ADHD. As Spiderman, he was a real-life superhero, and girls dreamed about him, guys wanted to be him, he lived a dream. She'd never understood why Spiderman chose to hide behind a mask, at least, not until now. She couldn't imagine the world reacting to the news that Stiles Stilinski was Spiderman.

Lydia broke into a satirical smile. "Maybe. Maybe not. I don't kiss and tell, not even in my dreams." Curiosity shined in Allison's eyes. "Oh come on! That's totally a yes."

"Guess you'll never know."

xxxxx

Detention.

Lydia had just discovered that the boy who'd been in love with her since he could practically speak was actually a badass superhero and that her best friend was a deadly archer clad in sexy black and that her boyfriend was a werewolf and that her life had spun on its axis and that everything had changed and she was going through some major PTSD and now she was going to detention.

She didn't have the patience to sit through three hours of torture which could very well be literal with Mr. Harris (a.k.a the one teacher in their school who was most likely turn out to be a serial killer undercover) like she was in some sort of warped after-school special. Lydia groaned as the bell rang during last period, students erupted from their seats and shuffled out of class before Lydia could say, "damn it."

Lydia tossed her books into her bag and lugged it on her shoulder, grouchily heading over to the detention classroom, coming up with ways to get herself out of it. If it had been any other male teacher, Lydia was absolutely sure she would've been able to flirt her way out of it. In fact, she would've been able to convince a female teacher too. Mr. Harris on the other hand, didn't exactly have a soul, so that would be futile with him. When she got to class, she was surprised to see Stiles Stilinski sulking by the window with his head in his hands. He hadn't noticed her yet. Now she really wanted to get out of this. It wasn't that she didn't want to be around Stiles, but after their almost-kiss, she had a feeling things were going to be beyond awkward.

So... Yeah. She didn't want to be around Stiles.

Mr. Harris spotted her, and he got that look in his eye that he always got when he was staring at a student, like a predator sizing up its prey. It was kind of daunting, actually. Hilarious because Mr. Harris didn't look particularly scary, only as scary as your average Joe; what with his scholar glasses, iron-pressed suits and gelled back black hair. It was the emptiness in his eyes and the frostiness of his words that was terrifying. Everytime Lydia looked directly at him, she felt like she was staring into the heart of darkness or a bottomless pit. "Ah, Miss Martin. Disappointed you could join us. Now please, take a seat and don't make eye contact with me," he muttered in monotone. Lydia nodded and began to pull out a chair adjacent to where Stiles was sitting.

"I'm correcting papers, so if I even hear either of you breathing, you're going to be here till dinner time."

Lydia rolled her eyes as she plopped down on the desk chair and stared up at the big red clock on the wall. Three hours. Three freaking hours. If she had to sit here for another three hours, in dead silence along with Stiles Stilinski and Satan's spawn, she was going to kill herself.

Stiles was looking at her, his eyes wide with shock. Lydia didn't have detention very often. In fact, Lydia never had detention at all but her English teacher had been droning on about a chapter she'd already rehearsed and she'd been caught texting. Lydia offered him a slight shrug and Stiles broke into a small grin.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," he whispered. "It was starting to get pretty unbearable all on my lonesome with Count Dracula over here."

Those gold treasure eyes of his shimmered in the sunlight from the window. Stiles was clad in a black round-neck t-shirt and jeans instead of his signature plaid or his closet full of Star Wars t-shirts that came in different colors. Lydia wondered if he was dressing differently on purpose, or if he'd just spilled orange juice on his normal clothes and borrowed something from Scott.

"That's sweet but honestly, if I'm to stay here for another three hours, I'm seriously going to consider blood rituals and creative murder," Lydia muttered irritably.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Me too, but I have a feeling he's going to ask for our first born children if we walk out and _'disrespect'_ him." Lydia groaned, letting out a huff of breath and staring down at the woodwork on her desk.

"I hear chirping," Mr. Harris mused. "I'll tear your vocal chords out of your throats and hang them on my bedroom wall as a prize if you utter a single syllable again."

Lydia dropped her head on the desk and closed her eyes. Maybe she could try and fall asleep.

If she opened her eyes, she was going to look at Stiles, and lately, something inside her stomach lurched everytime she looked at him. It was like her body instantly had to react in some way or the other when he was around, which would've been surprising if they hadn't danced at that club that night. Lydia regretted ever getting drunk. There was nothing about that night she remembered until Stiles came into the picture, after that, she saw the whole night in bright color. She remembered where her hands had been, where they'd wanted to go. She remembered his hands, too. She remembered where he'd touched her. Lydia shivered at the memory, and her skin tingled in the places he'd touched like he'd left little pieces of metal scrap embedded into her skin and he was the magnet. She wouldn't go as far as saying she was falling for him. Right now, she was hoping it was just a hormonal thing. She was a teenager after all.

" _Psst_ ," it was Stiles again. Lydia took a deep breath and strained her neck slightly to glimpse at him. "What?" she intoned between gritted teeth. "You wanna get out of here?"

"No. I'd like to sit here all day in helpless compliance as the devil himself gives me constant stink-eye," Lydia responded crisply. "Obviously, Stiles. Don't be dumb."

Stiles scrunched up his nose at her words like he was about to sneeze and the expression only worsened. At first, she thought it was because she'd hurt his feelings or something with her sharp retorts, but then she realized his big boy brain had actually come up with a plan. Lydia watched him in amusement as his hand flew to his chest and he began to breathe heavily.

"Oh," he coughed, making a sound like a cat being trampled to death. "Oh god!"

He began wheezing and spluttering, collapsing off the chair and onto the cold floor. Lydia's eyes widened and she crouched down and pretended to help him. Stiles was rolling on the floor, his palm clinging to his heart as he began to hyperventilate. Mr. Harris arched an eyebrow. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, almost stoically calm considering the circumstances.

Lydia pretended to look panicked as she ran a hand down his cheek and grabbed his shoulders, yanking his head into her lap. "He's having a panic attack! It's really bad!"

Mr. Harris looked doubtful. "Can you make it stop?" he frowned.

Stiles began wheezing even louder, for dramatic effect, and Lydia pressed her palm against his stomach. "Oh, no. It's getting worse. He's having a really hard time at home. You know, absentee mother, working father, no girlfriend, no job," Lydia blithered as she wrapped one of his arms around her neck and hoisted him up. "Don't incline all your body weight on me!" she chastised in a low tone as Stiles huffed and puffed.

"I've got to take him to the doctor right now! The poor boy has no friends!" Mr. Harris stood up, but Lydia was already rushing out the door with the boy in toe and an arm wrapped around his middle. They stumbled down the hallway until she couldn't hold him upright anymore, after which Stiles separated from her and they both took off in a sprint, laughing uncontrollably as Mr. Harris shouted obscenities from across the hall without having the stamina to follow them out.

"Get _back_ here!" he exclaimed. "I will destroy you! I will fail you both! I will flay you kids alive and pick my teeth with your bones - I... Why did I become a High School teacher instead of an evil overlord?" his voice drowned out as they approached the end of the hallway and dashed out of the school doors.

Lydia couldn't halt the laughter bubbling up her chest. It was exhilarating and absolutely ridiculous; racing through the deserted school hallways in her six-inch heels, with her hair flapping behind her like the wings of a butterfly, and a boy with hazel eyes and chocolate hair by her side. In that moment, Lydia Martin was not a seventeen-year-old with perfect hair and emotional issues. She was a six-year-old girl again, living with her heart on her sleeve and no pride or vanity, no cares in the world at all. This little girl cared about nothing except the adrenaline coursing through her veins and the friendly giggling kid next to her.

They only stopped running once they were out of the school gates, Lydia skidded to a stop and wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, breathing fast and leaning against Stiles' jeep. Stiles slowed down too, literally collapsing on his knees, his chest heaving as he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. An infectious smile spreading across his face like sunshine on  
a dreary morning. "If I would've died right there, I bet Mr. Harris would've taken my body to his house for experimentation and then buried me in his backyard," he muttered between chuckles.

"I bet he would've taken a piece of your hair for his collection," Lydia joked.

They laughed some more until it drowned into silence and the world was quiet except for their heavy breathing. "Lydia Martin, congratulations on that Oscar-worthy performance," Stiles said in mock appraise. "You weren't so bad yourself, Johnny Depp," Stiles' eyes widened as he pointed to her forehead. "Are you actually sweating?"

Stiles looked like he did this everyday - well, he _did_ do this every day and it was obvious since he hadn't broken a sweat.

Lydia blinked. "I don't sweat. I glisten."

Stiles arched an eyebrow. "Narcissistic much?"

"Can't a girl compliment herself?"

Stiles raised his hands up in surrender, a playful smile blossoming at his lips. "All hail queen Lydia," she rolled her eyes at that. "Hey, don't you, uh, think he's gonna realize that we totally shammed him and put two and two together and go straight to the principal's office? You know, _'those meddling kids!'_ " Stiles rolled his shoulders back, the smile still painting his features pretty.

"You could totally be Daphne." He muttered in a shy tone, before he cocked his head to the side cutely and sauntered over to where she stood by his jeep, scratching the back of his neck.

"Who do you think I'd fulfill better? Freddy or Shaggy?" He paused for a second. "Wait. Don't answer that. At least I drive a better car than those guys, right?" he tapped the hood of his blue monstrosity with pride, before widening his eyes and shaking his head.

"Wait, no. Don't answer that either."

Lydia shot him a funny glance when he compared her to Daphne.

"You're kinda Scrappy Doo," Lydia joked, and Stiles shot her an outraged glance.

"Aw, come on! Scrappy Doo? He's like the cartoon version of the annoying kid next door,"

Lydia shrugged as she leaned away from his jeep and sighed, all her mirth dissipating. "I should go home," she insisted, even though she'd admittedly had a lot of fun. Lydia hadn't done something outrageous like that in what felt like ages, maybe she'd never done anything like it at all. Lydia was too used to living the 'safe' life, where everything was always rosy and peachy and incredibly boring. The bubble she'd created for herself wasn't exactly thrilling. Sometimes Lydia wondered what it was like to live Stiles' life. It would be dangerous, scary and even morbid at times - but wouldn't all the rest that was awesome make up for that?

"I should drop you at least," Stiles responded, there wasn't even a speck of disappointment on his face. He truly was a fab actor. He got into the driver's seat and Lydia jumped shotgun.

The sky was the color of his eyes as evening fell, and the city streets were ripe with late-afternoon traffic. Lydia leaned against his window and closed her eyes, thinking of her dream again. It made her wonder something. Lydia opened her eyes, shooting Stiles a sidelong glance.

His face looked sculptured in the right light, that sharp jawline, those glitter eyes, his soft cushion hair, his arms adorned with veins that popped when he was exerting force and his hands... The hand that had pointed at her bleeding forehead in the dream belonged to him. Lydia often thought that Stiles' best feature was his hands. They were large, slightly calloused yet warm like something alive, like she was holding a piece of his soul when she held his hand. He had long, slim pianist's fingers, fingers she imagined trailing down...

 _Okay Lydia. Let's go back to the PG-13 channel._

Lydia spared him another glance, but she didn't stop to admire. "Do you believe in psychics?"

"What?" he muttered. Lydia repeated herself. "Do you believe in psychics?"

Stiles rolled his tongue around in his mouth. "No, I don't," he replied. "Then again, I don't believe in werewolves, either." Lydia smiled at that. "I had this weird dream, but it felt more like a premonition. You were there..." her words faded away.

Stiles smirked. "And what were we doing in this dream of yours?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter. We were just dancing, and I wasn't even sure if it _was_ you. It seemed like you. I recognized..." _your lips._ She wasn't about to say that aloud. Stiles knitted his eyebrows together. "What?" Lydia shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Point is... It felt too vivid to be just a dream. I keep a dream journal, it's nothing like the dreams I've had before. Now that I've been enlightened to this new world order or whatever... I feel like it might be something supernatural,"

"Lydia Martin," he said in an astounded voice. "You think you have ESP?"

"I don't know what I think. Maybe it means something. Or maybe all of this supernatural jargon is clogging my brain and causing my brain cells to stop functioning regularly but... "

"But you'd like to be sure."

Lydia nodded. "Exactly," Stiles opened his mouth to reply but got cut short when his iPhone began to ring. He raised a finger indicating for her to hold on as he answered the phone and parked the car on the side of the road. "Hello," he answered. "Stop talking so fast. You did what now?" Lydia watched Stiles expression go from mild amusement to serious awe to mounting fear.

"No way. I hate that guy," Stiles rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. You owe me though _. Big_ time."

Stiles bit his lip. "Just promise me you aren't cheating on me with him,"

Lydia rolled her own eyes. It was instinct reflex when it came to Stiles and Scott, and he only spoke to Scott that way. Stiles cut the phone and offered Lydia a sheepish grin.

"What is it now?" she quizzed, slightly irked. "We're going to make a pit stop. Your presence will cushion the blow hopefully,"

"What blow?"

"We're going to meet Derek Hale. If I've got a pretty girl with me, he probably won't give me a wedgie or eat my soul or beat me to a pulp."

Lydia laughed. "You're such a big baby. How can you be Spiderman?"

"Look, Miley Cyrus couldn't sing like Hannah Montana when she was Miley Cyrus, right?"

Lydia frowned. "So?"

"Similarly, I can't use my Spiderman superhuman strength when I'm Stiles Stilinski."

"Right. So... Why exactly are we going to meet him?"

"We're going to deliver a Harley."

Lydia's eyes almost popped out of her head. "We're going to do _what_ now?"

 **Stiles**

"So are you like... Scott's butler now?" Derek questioned smugly.

 _Keep your cool. Keep your calm. You're freaking Spiderman, you could totally kick his ass and eat a corndog at the same time without breaking a sweat. You beat him in the badass department. Just be the bigger person._

Stiles managed a tight smile. "I always look forward to seeing you. You're such a breath of fresh air. Don't you think, honey? Isn't he just a ball of sunshine?" He muttered with his hand pressed against the small of Lydia's back.

She stepped away from him and sharply muttered, "I'm not your honey," in response.

Derek chuckled at that. He was basically six feet of hardened muscle and angst.

He looked like he ought to be on a billboard for one of those Sports Magazines, and Stiles thought that if Edward Cullen ever needed competition, he had to look no further than Derek Hale, who was basically Jacob Black on crack.

Girls thought he was dreamy because of the whole tall, dark and handsome thing. Chicks for some reason dug silent, enigmatic guys who were most likely to be a part of some crude biker gang or a freaky cult.

When Derek wasn't moping, he was staring off into space and insulting Stiles. He was also a werewolf according to Scott, which made a lot of sense and put everything into perspective if he thought about it. Derek always looked at him like he wanted to bite his face off anyway.

Derek raised a perfect eyebrow. "Is she your bodyguard?"

Stiles could see the appeal, if he wasn't heterosexual anyway, but it didn't change the fact that Derek could make Hitler shake in his boots if he wanted to. "She's my witness," Stiles responded smoothly. "You know, in case things go south and you go all Big, Bad Wolf on me."

Derek's eyes widened. "She knows," he added quickly. "She's a friend of Scott's,"

"Since when do _you_ know?"

"It's been obvious. Have you met yourself? You're _terrifying,_ and I'll admit, you were a bit of a conundrum when we first met so I'd hypothesized that you were obviously not human. Guess I was right," Stiles blabbed. "Of course. Non-human in the demonic hell spawn variety, but werewolf makes sense too,"

Derek grunted like an animal with wounded pride. "If you breathe a word of this to a single soul I swear to god -"

"I know. You'll huff and puff and blow my house down. Can you give me the bike so we can both be on our merry ways now?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "It's out back. In the garage," he took a step back to allow Stiles to pass but held up a hand when Lydia tried to follow. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?"

"I'm afraid your girlfriend's going to have to wait outside," he said crisply. Lydia blinked, dumbfounded momentarily. "Do I _look_ like his girlfriend to you?" Derek simply shrugged and pushed her back by resting a hand across her shoulder.

"Hey," Stiles shouted, anger gurgling inside him all of a sudden. "If you harm one perfect, strawberry-blonde hair on her head, I'm gonna turn your werewolf ass into a fur coat and give it to her as a birthday present."

To his utter surprise, Derek dropped his hand, grunted once more, and nodded in defeat. "Fine. Just don't touch anything," Stiles met Lydia's evergreen eyes for a moment and she offered him an almost-smile as they headed to Derek's garage. "Do you even know how to ride a Harley?" Derek questioned.

"Yes! No... _Sort of_. None of your beeswax, buddy," Stiles stuttered.

Derek shrugged and flipped on the lights in his musty garage. It smelt like burnt tires and petrol, but the selection of auto-mobiles in his treasure chest was impressive. Stiles spotted all kinds of awesome vehicles in Derek's collection, including Derek's very own Camero. Derek halted by a black beauty of a motorcycle. Scott had managed to talk Derek into letting him have it, and wanted Stiles to bring it over to his house while he was out 'on an errand' that he refused to describe in further detail.

The Harley Davidson was painted a silky silver-and-black and was approximately the size of a short-legged horse. "Look at this heavenly baby," Stiles muttered to himself as he leaned forward to run his hands over the bike. Derek smacked his hands away.

"You should wash your hands first," Stiles frowned. "You're kidding, right? There's enough grease on this bike to supply a fast food joint." Derek rolled his eyes. "Be extremely careful with it. I want it back intact. Scott knows the consequences."

Even Lydia was gawking at the Harley Davidson. "This is spectacular," she murmured from behind him.

"It's got The Revolution engine based on the VR-1000 Superbike race program. It's got the new design features too, the use of a single overhead cam, screw and locknut value adjustment, a single internal counterbalancer, and vertically split crankcases."

Stiles and Derek gawked at her speechlessly. Lydia frowned. "What?" when neither of them conjured the strength to respond, she scoffed. "I _read._ "

Derek was first to snap out of his owe. "She's all yours," he tossed Stiles the keys, which he fumbled to catch since he was still shaking himself out of his Lydia funk. "Thanks," he muttered shakily. "You gonna ride her to Scott's?"

Lydia frowned. "I thought we were just here to pick it up?"

Derek shrugged. "I can drive your jeep back to your place. You should ride it to Scott's. I don't see the need to toe it and waste my time."

Stiles broke into an excited grin. "Hell yeah! Just... Don't hurt my baby," he tossed his jeep's keys at Derek, who walked over to a cabinet at the back of the garage and ambled back. "It comes with the bike," Derek muttered almost half-heartedly. Stiles felt his stomach flip as he examined the leather jacket that Derek handed him. "Are you serious?"

Derek shot him his signature stoic expression. "Do I look like I joke?"

"Forget I asked," Stiles blabbed as he yanked on the leather jacket. He heard Lydia scoff. "You're going to wear a leather jacket and ride a Harley," Stiles frowned at her. "Now I feel like _I've_ stepped into the Twilight Zone,"

Stiles was sick and tired of Lydia seeing him as a total wuss. Stiles was freaking Spiderman. He wasn't the skinny, defenseless kid she thought he was. Adrenaline and determination coursed through him as he came to an impulsive yet satisfying decision. If the good guys never got the girl, he would be bad enough for her because that's how much he wanted her. "Let's go," he muttered as he hopped on the motorcycle and pulled on the helmet. Derek handed a second helmet to Lydia, who was staring at them like they were both insane.

"I'm not getting on that thing," she shook her head. "Lydia. Get your pretty head out of the clouds and get on." Stiles commanded.

Lydia nodded no. "I like my head the way it is. Attached to my body."

Stiles' eyes shot skyward. "I promise I won't get us killed. If I do, you can haunt me for the rest of your _un_ -life. Okay?"

Derek rolled his eyes at them and began to walk out. "Goodbye. If you two ever need anything, please, do _not_ call me,"

It took him five minutes of major convincing but he knew she'd have to get home somehow. Lydia finally complied; albeit reluctantly. Stiles couldn't help but look at her from the rear-view mirror as she climbed on behind him and scowled at the helmet. "I'm not wearing this. It smells like dandruff and ear wax."

Stiles chuckled. "You're the one who wanted to keep your head intact."

When Lydia retained her scowl, Stiles sighed. "I'm joking. It was a joke."

"I don't get your humor," she murmured as she pulled a bottle of cherry crush perfume out of her purse and sprayed it in the helmet. Stiles bit his lip. "You just lug that around with you? What else have you got inside Pandora's box?" Lydia smirked at that. " _Everything._ " Lydia zipped the purse shut and yanked it back on, clutching it under her right arm. "You're going to have to hold on tight," Stiles explained. "You're so totally doing this on purpose," Lydia snapped as she somewhat hesitantly wrapped her arms around his torso. Stiles tried not to shudder or breathe too heavily or even think too much about the fact that Lydia's hands were draped around his stomach. He could tell she was still resisting leaning any closer so he didn't prod her as the engine whirred to life and they took off.

At first, their ride was bumpy and Lydia screeched and smacked him on the shoulder. "You better keep us alive, Stilinski,"

Stiles got the hang of it within a minute despite the fact that it wasn't an easy bike to ride and that he'd never even done this before, which Stiles almost found ridiculous considering the fact that he'd done so many other things. He'd leapt off vehicles and shot off skyscrapers and chased down goblins and battled human torches yet he'd never felt more exhilarated, more alive than he did on that Harley Davidson, sailing the paved, almost empty roads across the outskirts of Long Island that led to Scott's house with a pretty girl holding on to him.

Not just any pretty girl. Lydia Martin. The girl he'd fallen in love with before he even knew what love was. The girl he would always love. The girl he'd probably loved in all his past lives.

There was nothing but the wind and her touch and the beastly resonance of the motorcycle. There was nothing but the vanilla skies and the fresh, spicy hint of her perfume and the beating of his heart. There was nothing but the rush of adrenaline and the swell of his emotions. He felt Lydia's grip loosen and then her breath against his ear lobe, which felt just like the sunset breeze they were riding through. "Keep us steady," she whispered as he felt her shift in her position. Stiles' grip on the handles tightened so much his knuckles were colored white.

Lydia stood up and raised her arms to either side of her like an angel about to take off. She'd left the helmet in the space between them. He watched her from the mirror, the way her flaming hair lapped behind her like they were laced with sunlight itself, the way her green eyes were wide with intrigue and enchantment, like the forests inside them were on fire. Lydia's cheeks were the color of strawberry jam and her dark lashes fluttered like flies. Lydia, in her pretty blue dress, with her lips parted in that lipstick smile, it made him grateful for his life. It didn't matter anymore, whether Lydia felt the same about him or not. He'd put that smile on her face.

He was a hundred percent sure that neither Jackson nor Aiden nor any of the nameless jocks and sports stars and sexy studs she'd dated had ever put a smile so rich on her face. If they had, they would've never left her.

Stiles thought a guy would have to be completely senseless to let a girl like Lydia Martin slip out of their hands. Lydia was the kind of girl who even gay guys turned to look at, the kind of girl kings burnt empires to the ground for, the kind of girl boys daydreamed about. Lydia was sunlight and sin and life and pleasure.

"Keep your eyes on road!" Lydia chastised and he did because he didn't want her to fall.

Lydia plopped back down about a minute later, her arms resting around his waist again. She wore the helmet once more and held on tighter this time, leaning her bodyweight on him so her chest was pressed against his back and her lips tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. Lydia ran her hands up his torso and back down again, and Stiles almost lost all semblance of being.

God. Was she trying to have him spontaneously combust?

If Stiles didn't know any better, he would've said she was making a move.

About fifteen minutes later, Stiles brought the motorcycle to an abrupt stop near a deserted gas station that seemed isolated from the rest of New York City. He let out a sharp breath as he felt Lydia smack against him and wince.

"Sorry, don't quite have that figured out yet." He admitted. "Why did we stop?" she asked, yanking off the helmet once more and smoothing her windswept locks.

"I wanted to check my teeth for bugs," he joked.

Lydia rolled her eyes. Stiles pointed upwards at the pale cyan skies that were beginning to darken significantly, like ink spreading across paper. "It's drizzling," he muttered as he felt a drop of rain water dampen his nose. "I thought you might catch a cold,"

Lydia laughed. "Are you kidding? I've always wanted to ride a motorcycle in the rain with a guy in a leather jacket, although I'm usually the one riding the motorcycle..."

"Do you want to?"

Lydia blinked. "What?"

Lydia dodged his question with one of her own. "Where did you even learn to ride like that? Is it part of the Spiderman instruction manual?"

Stiles stuffed his hands inside the leather jacket's pockets as Lydia dismounted the bike and stood in front of him, shuffling from one foot to the other. Stiles mentally hissed at the allegation. He bloody damn well wished he'd received an instruction manual. Life would've been much smoother that way.

"I don't know," he muttered. "It was pretty easy once I understood the gears and the way it glides." He allowed himself to toggle with the power handle before bending down and examining the inner circuits behind the protective metal and plastic.

"It's a lot like riding a bike. A super powerful, really loud, bumpy, gas-eating bike."

He scratched his head before standing back up and looking at Lydia in the face for the first time in a while. "Seriously? Do you want to try?"

Stiles thought that if her mom found out that he let her do this, she'd roast him alive. Actually, no. She'd eat the remains of the roast that his father and Scott would make. They'd all have one big Stiles Feast. He made a weird face at the thought but quickly snapped back to reality. Lydia was staring at the keys like they were poisonous snakes, obviously having mental conflict. He rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand, pressing the keys into her palm and resting his other hand on top of hers.

"I'll take that as a yes. Just try not to kill us, okay?" he smirked, echoing her previous words in a mimicking tone.

Lydia

Stiles wasn't giving her an option. He wasn't giving her a choice.

Yes. That was the excuse she would give herself when the smart part of her brain questioned her why she was staying back to learn how to ride an impossible bike with him even though she was tired. Even though she was having an id-and-ego conflict about even being around Stiles. Even though she wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep. There was this part of her, this impulsive, insane part of her that just simply wanted to live, that went in whichever direction the wind blew. Lydia knew that part of her mind was about to take dominance.

Plus - what kind of a girl in her right mind would pass up the opportunity to take a Harley for a spin? She broke into a bubbly grin. "Oh, Stiles. If you can ride it, it's probably cake."

She clambered atop the bike and Stiles got up behind her. Stiles laughed in her ear, his laugh was the kind of laugh that made her laugh.

"You haven't even put the key in, genius," Lydia scoffed petulantly. "Yes! I know! I was just about to do that." She bluffed, as she put it in and then rested her palms on the handles. Stiles leaned in so that his chest was pressed up against her spine, and Lydia was trying to listen to what he was instructing, she truly was, but she could barely focus with the way his breath was tickling the nape of her neck, the way the butterflies inside her stomach had added gymnastics to their list of talents and were now performing cartwheels.

Stiles looked good in that leather jacket. Like, really good. If someone would've told her a month ago that Stiles Stilinski would make her feel freaking butterflies, she wouldn't have believed them if they had recorded proof of it. Lydia knew what she was doing was perhaps ill-advised, but all she could think was how right this felt. It did feel right. It felt like all of her puzzle pieces fit into his empty spaces symmetrically.

Lydia stopped caring in that moment, about the consequences. She'd never not cared.

It only got worse when Stiles leaned in closer and suddenly his palms were atop of hers, giving them a gentle squeeze that transferred warmth into her body like there were sparks on his fingers and flames in his skin. "You ready?" he whispered.

Lydia could do this. She could ride a bike. She was incredibly smart, it was the only thing in her life that she'd ever been sure about. This thing was just about turning the right gears and stuff. She could do this.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she responded as the motorcycle sprung to life, causing it to cough and hack up steam like it was getting dirt out of its system.

"Alright. Easy, easy. That's good," he said as she slowly pulled out of the parking position.

Lydia's body began to relax under his touch, Stiles jerked forward and let out a quiet groan when she pushed the brakes too hard. Lydia grimaced. "Oops. Sorry!"

"Yup, yup. Yeah, I had trouble with it too, don't worry." He stated, his words coming out in a laugh. Lydia didn't bother looking at him or she would probably lose focus. Stiles allowed his right hand to trail its way up her right arm before stopping on her elbow. "Don't be so tense," he instructed, moving in close enough that his breaths kissed her ear.

There was a rational voice in there somewhere, using a permanent marker on a whiteboard to indicate to her that he was totally flirting, but her brain didn't seem to be getting the message. Maybe it was getting the message. Maybe she was just in the throes of utter denial. If Lydia hadn't been so crazily focused on not ramming their ride straight into a tree then she would have politely asked Stiles to quit it, not because she wanted him to, but because Allison had recently mentioned to her that Stiles had just gotten out of a messy break-up with some girl named Malia, but that they were an on-and-off couple who were bound to get back again.

People could say what they wanted about Lydia, but she wasn't the kind of girl who played dirty with other girl's boyfriends. Then again, Lydia was a hundred percent sure that Stiles was very-very into her. Stiles was obviously trying to make a move on her, maybe this whole learn-how-to-ride-this-cool-bike thing was just a way to get closer to her. This was a guy who'd been salivating at her feet for years now.

There was something different about him now, though. There was an air of confidence to his persona. He stood up straighter and he looked her in the eye when they spoke and he was a freaking superhero. Those newfangled traits made Stiles Lydia's type, and the superhero thing was just the cherry on the top. Lydia shuddered as his cool fingers trailed up her arm, and tried to ignore the fluttering sensation in her chest and the way his breaths were driving her crazy.

Despite all this, Lydia loosened up just a bit, finding herself able to get a hang of riding one of the most difficult bikes to ride in the world, at least she was able to keep the heavy vehicle straight, even under both their weights. Lydia smiled again when she successfully stopped the bike near a fork in the road where she parked it to the side, in case any passerby vehicles drifted by.

For some reason unknown to her, she was still sitting there in that same position for a good five seconds even after she'd stopped the bike. Stiles was still pressed up against her, and just being near him had her nerves jittering. It was when Stiles awkwardly cleared his throat that she got off the bike.

She wasn't going to do this. She wasn't going to do anything. It was just post-Aiden woes, it wasn't some kind of insane pent up attraction to plaid.

Despite her thoughts, she couldn't help herself when she saw the proud look on his face. She leapt at him, embracing him into a big bear hug. "That was amazing!" She exclaimed, pulling away a little too quickly. Stiles' eyes widened, but he wrapped one arm around her upper back before she pulled away just as quickly.

Stiles looked like he'd just downed a dozen cups of coffee. The wind had made a mess of his hair, his cheeks were slightly pink from the cool temperature and his caramel eyes were wide with intrigue and life and magic.

Stiles smiled. "I'm glad you liked it. Maybe one of these days we can shoplift a Camero and race Derek, huh?" he was already hopping on the bike and preparing to get going.

The clouds in the skies above them groaned loudly, and Lydia predicted downpour. "Come on. Let's get you home before we're soaking wet and gross." Stiles murmured. Lydia nodded and mounted the bike, getting on behind him again as he took the express route and they dived into noisy New York traffic.

They were stuck in traffic for twenty whole minutes before they got to Lydia's neighborhood, and she knew Stiles still had to drop the vehicle off at Scott's before he went home. The weather gods had shown zero mercy upon them, and both Lydia and Stiles were drenched in rainwater. Lydia's hair, that had been alive and puffy and perfect an hour ago, were now flat and sticky.

They smelt like acid rain instead of coconut shampoo and she felt a bit like a wet poodle.

It was still raining when they pulled into Lydia's driveway and she got off. "Stiles, you should stay over at Scott's tonight. Or at least wait for the weather to calm down before you step out again. Maybe Scott's mom could drop you..." Lydia's voice trailed off.

Stiles' eyes were wider than distance, Lydia felt one of the butterflies inside her stomach punch her. The words that had flown out of her mouth had surprised them both. It turned out that she did care about him after all. Lydia couldn't believe she cared about what happened to him on his way home, usually what happened wasn't really her problem. She hated feeling this way. So... derailed. "I mean," she tried to remedy the situation.

"Drippy and dirty is not exactly a good look on you."

It was a failed attempt, but Stiles chuckled fakely anyway. The warmth and genuine happiness that had enlightened their evening had been washed away with the rain, leaving nothing but a big, gaping hole of awkwardness galore for them to deal with. "I agree," he murmured somberly.

It was a lie. Stiles looked even better dripping wet. The material of his black t-shirt hugged his chest and stomach, which were more chiseled than Lydia had imagined (not that she'd imagined anything. ever.) She couldn't help but stare at the way he blinked more often when the rain hit his eyes, or at the little droplets of water that dripped down his chin towards his neck in silvery rivulets, or at how the t-shirt was almost see through now, so Lydia could trace the shapes of his hardened muscles and his pecks and his navel.

 _Bad Lydia. Bad, bad thoughts!  
_  
It was weird. Lydia's feet were still glued to the pavement, even though she was just getting wetter and grosser. Why was it that she didn't want this day to end? It hadn't gone perfectly, things in her life never did, but it had been... something.

It had started out as just being stuck with him in detention, but then they'd totally played Harris for the fool he was, and she'd enjoyed it. Stiles was supposed to drop her right home after, but they ended up making the world's longest pit stop at Derek's Garage and then it was just sort of a blur... zapping past electric streets on a motorcycle, personally riding it, soaking in the cool rain... It had gotten her mind off her usual worries, and she'd felt happiness, even if it was in its briefest form when she was cruising on that bike with a boy she could be honest with. And she hadn't even taken anti-depressants today. She hadn't needed them. She could live in a fantasy for just a few more moments before reality hit her smack in the face.

Lydia looked up at the cloudy, dusky crying skies and immersed in her fantasy for a few more silent seconds. Stiles was staring at her. She was staring right back and she hadn't even realized it. Lydia wondered which one of them would look away first.

Lydia ended up giving up the charade. She offered him an exhausted, weak smile and turned on her heel, walking away. She was half-way to her doorstep when she felt his gaze on her back, like it was searing a hole in her middle, so she turned quietly, and he was still looking at her. She didn't know why, he wasn't even smiling anymore. It was just this weird, intense look; an expression he'd never worn before. Lydia took a deep breath and let it out. There was a part of her that wanted to run to him and crush her lips to his. Just to feel what he tasted like. The steady downpour had faded to a slight drizzle. Lofty clouds were beginning to part for the moon in the hazy twilight above, and the air was seasoned with the smell of recent showers, invigorating her senses. The streetlight turned the tips of Stiles' hair to a psychedelic silver. Their eyes met once more and then she turned around again, feeling like no words were needed.

The looks on their faces told dissertations. Tomorrow morning, Lydia would be Lydia again: the star of the school, prom queen, valedictorian. The level-headed, bratty, bitchy dumb blonde Lydia. And Stiles would be nothing but a mere annoyance again. She wouldn't think of him as Spiderman. Just some kid with a hopeless crush, but she would remember this day. She would hold on to it. She heard the engines of his awfully loud bike and then he was gone in a fit of stormy dust. Lydia knocked twice on the door, exhausted, and collapsed in her mother's welcoming embrace.

* * *

 **Hey! Don't forget to drop me a review :)**


	8. The Hero Dies In This One

**A/N: Hey guys! I AM SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO sorry for the late update. I've been out of town for over a week now and I just got back. This chapter is short but I'm gonna make up for it with a quick update this time, I promise! Anyway, enjoy. And please. Keep reviewing! It means so much when I read your feedback.**

* * *

 _you think that you're the sun,_  
 _the whole world revolves around you,_  
 _the center of attention,_  
 _and everything is drawn to you._

* * *

Stiles

"Ah. You're home. Would you like to explain yourself, kiddo?"

Stiles grimaced at the sound of his father's voice echoing from the living room. He'd only just stepped in after dropping Scott's motorcycle off and had totally predicted this. Stiles was soaking wet, tired and he had arrived home racing through the streets and leaping off buildings instead of driving his jeep. Stiles often snuck out of the house in the middle of the night, but he did that through the window, so his father wouldn't find out. He spent half of the way home plotting a strategy to get from the living room to his own bedroom unnoticed, which was a plan that pretty much went up in flames as soon as his father had sussed him out. "Not really?" Stiles muttered, making a face.

John Stilinski was on the couch in his PJs; a white tee and blue striped pajamas, it was nice to see him in something other than his office clothes. There were days Stiles swore his father slept in them. He was munching on popcorn and watching a Chinese action film; currently presenting a bunch of Asian people scattering about in terror and running for their lives. But Mr. Stilinski wasn't looking at the screen, he was looking at Stiles, and that wasn't his happy face.

"I think someone's been begging for some serious ass-whooping," Mr. Stilinski blabbed.

"Wait. Is that a leather jacket you're wearing?" Mr. Stilinski squinted at him, but Stiles evaded that question and winced once more. "Okay! Okay!" He raised both arms up in surrender. "I'll talk just... Please don't utter the phrase _ass-whooping_ ever again."

Mr. Stilinski shrugged. "I was just trying it out. Come, sit," he said, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. "You know, I wish I'd taken a language back in my college days," Stiles frowned, preferring to remain standing considering he was all wet. The wind had dried his hair off, but his jeans felt soggy like he was wearing a cocoon, and his t-shirt and leather jacket were sticking to his skin like superglue. "It's got subtitles," Stiles pointed out. "Yeah, well. It's not the same." Stiles nodded, retracting his steps. "Yo, Pops. How about I make you some _real food_ and take a shower and we can sit and watch all the terrible foreign films you like?"

"You're not getting away so easy, kiddo. Now start talking before I go all bad cop on you," Mr. Stilinski insisted. Stiles sighed, his shoulders slumping in retreat. "Long story short I was at Scott's playing video games all day and then his friend delivered the bike he'd ordered and we kind of took it for a spin by the outskirts of Long Island but then we got stuck in traffic and it rained and then he dropped me and left." It wasn't a lie. It was just half of the truth. Stiles decided it was better not to mention which bike Scott had procured, and definitely better not to mention the detention and fleeing from it part. Mr. Stilinski looked skeptical.

"Where's your jeep?"

"Scott's dropping it off."

"That's funny because Derek Hale came knockin' at my door, jiggling your keys, about an hour before you got here," Stiles winced again _. Damn it!_ He could almost picture Derek Hale's pleased, smug face. Stiles wanted to wipe that smug grin right off.

"Sometimes, I think you forget I'm not just your father. I'm also a cop, and I don't want to sound narcissistic, but I think I'm a pretty damn good one. You sound like one of my murder suspects trying to think up plausible lies," he muttered crisply. Stiles sighed. "Everything I told you is true, dad. I wanted to ride his bike so I asked Derek to drop off my jeep." Mr. Stilinski frowned, but finally nodded. "I hope you aren't lying to me, son."

"I promise I'm not. I'm gonna go clean up and then I'll microwave you something, okay?" Stiles muttered. Mr. Stilinski nodded. Stiles was half-way to his room when he heard his dad call out. "It's one of those days," Stiles stiffened. He knew what his father meant by that. He raced back out to the living room and plopped back down on the couch without even bothering to change.

"Dad?"

Mr. Stilinski looked crestfallen. Stiles rubbed the man's shoulder supportively. "I miss your mother so much sometimes," he murmured in the softest tone. "I know," Stiles said, wrapping his arms around his father in an embrace. "I miss her too."

 _Every second of every day._

xxxxx

"Dude!" Scott yelped excitedly.

"Dude! You won't believe what I found!" Scott was racing down the school hallway so fast that he almost tripped and bumped his head against a cluster of open lockers. "Try me," Stiles responded with a scoff. There was very little Stiles thought he wouldn't believe after everything that had happened these past few weeks. At this point, if Scott told Stiles that there was a party of unicorns scampering about in the principal's office, he'd probably buy it.

Scott stumbled to a halt where Stiles was leaning against his own locker, almost slipping again in a puddle of icky soda that some kid had dropped on the polished floors. Scott dug his nails into Stiles' shoulder for balance. "God. You're even more energized than usual. What's up?" Scott took a minute to catch his breath before he spoke up. "I know who the culprit is!"

Stiles eyes widened and he shushed his friend, hoping he'd keep his volume low. "What?"

"I think I know whose behind all these enhanced criminals!"

Stiles had plenty of questions, ranging from how to why to who. Scott didn't wait for a response.

"It's just a suspicion, and I may be wrong, but if I'm right, your case just got even more complimented," Stiles sighed. "Let me guess. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were behind this all along," Scott rolled his eyes. "Don't snark me. I'm serious,"

"I think it's Wolfram & Hart," Scott added quickly. Stiles allowed his jaw to drop significantly before he spoke. "Really? So the suspect you have is not a person but a billion dollar company."

Stiles hoped he emphasized on how stupid his friend sounded.

Wolfram & Hart was a powerful international law firm that defended unscrupulous and detestable clients. They got a lot of hate, but they were one of the most influential corporations in the United States right now. They'd branched out and taken interest in real estate, environment, science, research and intelligence, entertainment - you name it. "Oh, come on. They're totally Evil Incorporated," Scott blabbed. "Look. I get it. They go to the Court of Law and defend sleazy scumbags, but that doesn't make them criminals themselves."

Scott shook his head irritably. "I know I'm accusing a billion dollar corp, okay, but it makes perfect logical sense that they'd have the funds and resources to create metahumans. They're keeping their word to the criminals they couldn't defend, the ones who ended up in jail by busting them out and juicing them up with powers."

Stiles shook his head. "Even if you were right, and that's an Empire sized _'if',_ those people are untouchable. I don't think we'd be able to inform the police until we ourselves go and scope out solid evidence, and even then - there's a chance we'll fail. Miserably,"

Scott scoffed. "Like impossible odds have stopped us before," Stiles wanted to prove Scott wrong, but he couldn't exactly disagree to the point he made. The bell chimed in between their conversation and Stiles slammed his locker shut, beginning to walk towards class. Scott followed. "Listen! Pull some strings with your dad and get us a meeting with the human flamethrower, they've got him in a special cell that exhausts his powers. We can interrogate him and I'll prove to you that my theory's right."

Stiles rolled his eyes. " _Fine!_ If you're wrong about this, you're doing my laundry for a week."

"Yes!" Scott grinned petulantly. Sometimes, it was hard to digest that his friend was a dangerous, toothy creature by night. "You know what's good for your city," Scott prattled on dramatically as they made their way to class.

"With great power comes -" Stiles cut him short.

"Do. _Not_. Seriously."

xxxxx

Lydia was avoiding him.

He wouldn't have noticed but she was making it crystal obvious, like she wanted him to know that she was over whatever had happened. Stiles only saw her twice at school, she was flirting with some senior in a letterman's jacket the first time and bounding down the hallway crackling with electricity the second. Stiles didn't bother hanging around her or even trying to converse, he despised the Ice Queen version of her. Lydia was one of the most down-to-earth people he'd met, yet she behaved like she was universes above everyone else at school.

Stiles supposed she had the right to, considering she was practically the center of attention wherever she went. She carried an entire world with her, and people noticed.

Lydia's world was just too bright for him he supposed. If the past week had done anything to make him feel like he had the slightest chance with her, all that hope was melting away now. Stiles wasn't mad. He was just going to divert his attention elsewhere.

Ironically, he was on his way to his jeep, planning on driving over to his dad's office again to coerce him into giving him an audience with the human torch, when he bumped into his ex-girlfriend. Malia was beautiful, with hair the color of chocolate and matching eyes the color of coffee beans. She was slender, with bubbly, intense features and a dazzling smile. Malia looked so different since they'd broke up, though, she'd dyed her hair blonde and cut them short so they fell right by her collarbone and she even dressed bolder, fancier. Malia was clad in ripped jeans, a blue halter that showed more-than-necessary cleavage, a leather jacket and black high heels. Malia Tate was from a whole other planet than Lydia, which was why Scott had pushed him into going out with her. They'd awkwardly broken things up about four months ago, when Malia had realized that Stiles was still in love with Lydia.

"Who are we kidding, Stiles?" she'd said. "You're never going to get over her."

When he'd first begun dating her, he'd assumed he was super lucky to land someone as gorgeous and awesome as Malia. He thought dating her would turn his life on its axis and perhaps get him to fall out of love with Lydia. He'd even lost his virginity to her. Unfortunately, a relationship with Malia hadn't exactly been a joy ride. She could be super immature sometimes, and they fought over absolutely everything. They bonded pretty well at times, but to Stiles, their relationship had always been more lust less passion. Their connection had been a superficial one, a physical one. They didn't have much in common back then other than their mutual need for some human comfort. Stiles had insisted they remain friends, but Malia had distanced herself from him once they'd broken apart.

"Hey there, stranger," she broke into one of her gumdrop smiles. "Malia! Hey, wow. You look... different. I mean... _good_ different. I mean... _God,_ I should stop talking,"

"Gee. I forgot how awkward you are." Malia cooed smoothly.

He wasn't sure whether she was taunting him or doting on him. Knowing Malia, she was probably doing both at the same time. "How've you been?" Stiles asked because it was mandatory.

"Oh, you know. Howling at the moon and scoffing down deer guts,"

Stiles frowned and Malia broke into a small chuckle. "I'm joking. I guess my sense of humor still needs polishing," she murmured. "You'll get there," Stiles assured. "What about you? How have you been?" she quizzed. Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair and incessantly tapping his right foot. "Great."

Malia nodded, her smile wavering a little. "I'll see you around, I guess?"

Stiles nodded and she began to walk away until she halted and turned around on her heel. "There's this party on Saturday night. It's my friend's birthday bash. You should come. If you'd like," she muttered softly. Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and nodded vigorously. "Defo... Definitely, definitely,"

Malia's big brown eyes widened, as if she realized what her offer implied. "You can bring Scott along. And uh... a date, if you want."

"I haven't got one."

Malia smiled tightly. "You should still drop by. Later, Stiles."

"Yeah," Stiles muttered. "Later."

Sometimes, being head over heels for Lydia was a curse.

xxxxx

"I'm calling it. This was a very, very bad idea," Stiles groaned irritably. "This idea couldn't get worse if Satan himself descends from the Underworld and whispers it in our ears."

Scott rolled his eyes. "O ye, of little faith, my friend,"

Stiles had found out the location of the special prison cell by dipping into his father's records. Turned out, they were holding the burning man in a scientifically secured cell in the outskirts of the city, on the shore of an isolated beach where he could hurt nobody. The cell was crafted from fire-resistant metal and chains that would keep draining his powers. Spiderman and his new sidekick, Scotty the werewolf were standing outside of the ragged looking building that housed the prison cells, devising an entrance strategy. The jail was heavily secured with armed men everywhere, and with Stiles' luck, there were probably booby traps and lasers too.

"You're a city wide hero, just sweet talk them in to letting you in or something," Scott suggested.

Stiles considered it, and it did sound like a better option than the latter, a plan that consisted of breaking into a federal establishment. Superhero or not, Stiles didn't want Spiderman to be known as a fugitive. The skies above had darkened significantly, parades of rain clouds had begun sweeping in from the north, and Stiles predicted stormy weather. "Let's make this fast." Stiles muttered as they came out of hiding and headed straight for the main entrance where an armed guard lazily read a newspaper.

He was vigilant despite the lethargic aesthetic, up on his feet as soon as he spotted them. The guard's eyes widened when he took a look at Stiles in his Spiderman outfit. The prison guard was dressed in uniform and a peaked cap rested atop his head. "Can't wait to tell my wife and kids," he muttered in a deep voice. "I've heard a hell of a lot about you. Never thought I'd see you in person. Whose this with you? Didn't know Spiderman had a sidekick." Scott made a face.

"Excuse me?"

Spiderman sighed and pushed his friend back, before he ripped the guard to pieces with his wolf teeth just because he was offended. "Friend of mine. Hey, if you've heard of me, you know what I do, right? I've gotta get in, have a little chat with your prisoner. We're on to something, if he willingly gives up some important information, we'll be saving a bunch of lives," he explained. The guard scoffed. "Nobody's allowed in there. Not even superheroes. That prisoner's a piece of work, and he ain't answering no questions. They've beat him to a pulp and he's not eaten in three days. I'd be surprised if he's still alive."

"I understand that sir and I totally get that you're just doing your duty but it's very important. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't. Trust me," the guard grunted and scratched his beard, obviously pondering the suggestion. "Only if you're willing to sign my chest," the guard said in a dead pan.

Both Stiles and Scott gawked at the man, who then burst into cackling laughter. "Just kidding, but I will be needing a quick selfie for my friends to see."

Spiderman reluctantly posed for a picture and the guard let them in, which was fine with Stiles, considering he'd been expecting the guard to put up more of a fight. Scott on the other hand, wouldn't stop grumbling to himself. "Side kick. Side kick. I'm a freaking werewolf, you asshole," he murmured under his breath to nobody in particular. "I could gauge your eyeballs out with my nails and tear apart your gut using nothing but my fangs, I could -"

"Shut up. Will you?" Spiderman chastised. "We're here on a mission."

"Oh really? I thought this was a play date," Scott blabbed, his words dripping with sarcasm.

"It is," Stiles responded mordantly. "A play date with a human flamethrower who could turn our asses into kebabs."

"I bet I'd be a tastier kebab than you." Scott muttered tetchily.

Spiderman didn't have time for Scott's inferiority complex, he couldn't help but gawk at the prison cell around them. According to his father's files, The Burning Man was currently the only prisoner, but the prison had held all kinds of arcane maniacs throughout its history. The corridors were vast, seemingly endless banks of blackness, illuminated only by strange red bulbs lining the narrow hallways. The crevices were bedaubed by overgrown moss and the stench of wet concrete and debris was all over the air. "What a cozy place for criminals," Scott murmured, as if he too, was just noticing the prison. "You'd think they'd at least have cable TV."

The prison guard paused by a large steel door at the very end of the hall. "He's in there," he stated. "There are two other guards in there. I've told them to stand down over radio. They think the government's allowed this. You guys have exactly ten minutes before they find out what you are doing is totally illegal," Scott frowned. "He's Spiderman. He's saved the police countless times. They'll let it slide right?" the guard simply shrugged. "Let's hope so."

Spiderman pushed past the door and sauntered in with Scott at his heels. There he was, behind a steel cage, looking like a totally different guy now. The Burning Man's real name was Caster Woods, who was a bit of sociopath even before he'd earned his powers. The guy had a history of psychotic breakdowns and homicidal tendencies, he'd escaped from rehab about four times in a single year before attempting arson and being sent to jail for it. Perhaps he used to be normal, once, but after his parents were murdered in a tragic, unsolved case when he was seventeen, he was never the same. Stiles had read every file on record related to him before going in for the interrogation, just so he knew where to hit hardest in case any of the information would become relevant.

Caster was slumped against the wall, staring at a fixed spot in the air. His blond hair was a nightmare, his skin tone pallid, and his eyes were hollow. He looked like a corpse; barely alive. The guard stepped back, reminding them that they didn't have a lot of time. Caster spoke before Spiderman could. "You think you've won because you beat me," he chuckled sourly. "I was merely one of the countless heads of the dragon."

"This isn't a game of chess," Stiles muttered bitterly. "I'm not here to win or lose. I'm just a guy trying to keep my city safe from raging lunatics like you."

Caster chuckled again, an action that led him to a coughing fit. "What do you want from me?" Scott was the one to speak up, to Stiles' surprise. "Oh, nothing. Just wanted to check in, see how you were doing. How are you, by the way? Kill anyone interesting lately?"

Stiles managed a smile behind his mask. Scott was already losing patience with the guy. "Who did this to you?" Spiderman questioned. "If you 'fess up and we save lives. Who knows? Maybe we can shorten your sentence," bribery wasn't the most effective of moves, but Stiles had to try every trick in the book. "What was done to me was a gift," Caster spat.

"Yeah. Loads of good that did you. Thanks to your gift, you're rotting in a jail cell,"

Caster grunted angrily, flames sparked across his fingertips, only to be doused down by automatic sprinklers up on the ceiling. He sighed, wiping water out of his eyes.

"I'm more afraid of my Master than I am of you, so I won't be telling you anything of importance. You're wasting your time."

Stiles felt his heart turn to coal inside his chest. He was simply sick and tired of hearing about this Master person. It was time he found out who it was. "Yeah. I'm hearing so much about him. You're going to tell me exactly who he is or my friend here is going to get really pissed off. Trust me, you don't wanna piss this guy off."

Scott smiled creepily, fangs glinting in the little light that slipped into the room from the tiny window towards their right. Caster looked unsurprised. "This world is full of so many wonders and yet darkness, eternal night, creatures of cold blood and fang; monsters -"

"Poetic, now can we please cut to the chase? We haven't got all day." Stiles groaned.

"You are all just chess pieces in my Master's story book. You are his characters. He decides what will happen to you. Where you will go, how you will meet your end,"

"Unless your 'Master' is God himself, I highly doubt that," Scott muttered, before biting his lip. "Also, I'm an atheist. So I really, highly doubt that."

"My Master's name is Leonard Morgenstern, he prefers being called Stern. You actually brushed shoulders with him once, at Giovanni's, I believe?"

"Wait... your Master's the Whirlwind?"

"Is that what they're calling him?"

"How'd he acquire his own powers? Wait a second. He works for them, doesn't he? He works for Wolfram & Hart?"

When Caster didn't respond, Scott frowned. "Dude," he muttered softly. "Don't you think he 'fessed up too easily?" Caster must have heard him, because he was croaking again.

"I told you I wouldn't be telling you anything of importance. My Master does not care if you know of his identity. You can't beat him. You can't even touch him. He will destroy you. I'm a dead man already but what he's going to do to you? It's going to be a lot worse than what he does to me."

Caster snickered again, his laughter was akin to the sound of a dozen hysterical hyenas on crack.

"You know why? because my Master is ruthless and isn't burdened by weaknesses. You reek of them. Of love, of compassion, of hope - they're _diseases_ , you know. They'll be your fatal flaws."

Stiles shook his head. "Is that what they teach you at criminal school?"

Scott didn't bother coming up with a clever retort, he simply rolled his eyes, walked over to the guy's cell and knocked him right in the jaw.

"Let's go man," he muttered, wiping blood off his knuckles. "We got what we came here for."

"Count your days, Spiderman. We're all just part of his story, and the hero dies in this one. I'll see you in hell."

He tried to completely block out the fanatic cackling of the crazy man as his words faded into the dark like a whispered threat.

* * *

 **Please drop me a review! Thanks. I love and appreciate you. NOW GO WATCH TEEN WOLF SEASON 5 IF YOU HAVEN'T OMG  
**  
 **Additional notes: So... Yeah. Malia! Guys. I actually don't hate her (surprise surprise!) But since this is a stydia story, she won't feature too much, I promise you, although who doesn't love some Jealous!Stydia amirite? ;) Also... I have a few more chapters to go, the end is gonna culminate in a big bang but I'm still working on the skeleton and how I want it all to work out, so bare with me. Also, if you're a Buffy fan you got the Wolfram & Hart reference, I know this corporation is from the Whedonverse, but it just ties perfectly into this story, don't you think?**


	9. She's Like Cold Coffee

**A/N: As promised, here's an early update. Guys honestly, please REVIEW more. Please. I know we all feel lazy to review with our proper feedback, but it really motivates me to write and gives me the push I need to continue writing. I feel like a lot of you read this story but don't bother reviewing, but your reviews really make my day and I implore you to drop me one every time I update. It takes only a minute of your time! And I really wanna converse with my readers more, I want to connect with you all. So do that thing, maybe? :)**

 **Anyway, this chapter is a FAVORITE of mine and I had a lot of fun writing it. So yeah. Enjoy.**

* * *

 _we kiss and his lips turn into sand,_  
 _and the whole of him cascades through my hands,_  
 _making a castle on the floor  
then I'm alone again_

xxxxx

Stiles

"What a dick," Scott complained, anguish lacing his voice as he drove them back home.

"I swear he deserved so much more than a punch in the face," he went on. Stiles had changed back into his regular clothes: jeans, a t-shirt and a jacket, and was staring out the window, avoiding his friend's gaze. "You wanna crash at my place?" Scott questioned, staring up at the stormy evening sky. "It's about to get dark soon. I'm pretty sure it's gonna pour. Plus, you have your wussy face on. You don't have to go home."

Stiles snapped himself out of it, glancing at his friend. "My what face?"

"I don't know but it makes you look like a serial killer. Your left eye starts to twitch, your nose gets all wrinkled and you scowl for a good five minutes."

"Oh," Stiles sighed. "Listen. Drop me off at a cab stand. I need some time to clear my head."

Scott frowned. "Dude. You sure? I mean... Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I'm great. Just... please,"

"Where are you even gonna go?"

"I'm not sure yet. I guess I'll find out."

Stiles wasn't sure what he was feeling either, but something Caster had said was still throwing darts at his mind, and he needed some time to be alone. Once Scott dropped him off and he got into a cab, the cabbie asked him where he wanted to go.

He couldn't help it when his lips recited Lydia's address, memorized like a melody stuck in the back of his head.

Lydia

Lydia hated surprises. Particularly one shaped like an awkward brunette boy standing at her doorstep like a ghost, shaking from the rain - which had swept into New York City like vengeance on that late afternoon.

Lydia couldn't find the words as she gawked at him. Stiles had his arms crossed over his chest, droplets of water shimmered across his face and neck. He wasn't drenched but he was damp enough so it looked like he'd accidentally walked under a raging shower. His lips were slightly parted like there were words stuck on his tongue, stuck like hot honey so he couldn't spit them out. Stiles' cinnamon eyes widened like a storm when they met her own gaze. "What's going on?" she asked softly.

 _I thought I'd made it very clear that I was being totally avoidy of you._

That's what her mind said, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words out loud to a boy who looked like he'd literally swam across the Atlantic to get to her in that moment. "I don't know. I just kind of ended up here." Lydia scanned his face for any signs of humor, but he looked dead serious. Stiles sighed. "Okay. You are absolutely unhappy to see me and normally I would've probably taken the hint and sauntered off but I'm kinda running on pure adrenaline and four cups of coffee and I just recently discovered that life's kicked me in the balls as it always does and I've been stacked up against _impossible_ odds and I forgot to take my daily dose of Adderall today and so I guess I'm just going to be a massive idiot and say whatever's on my mind," he ranted.

" _You're_ what's on my mind, Lyd," the words came out like another sigh.

"God. Since I could practically walk, you've been all that I could think about. I've tried to make it stop, but it's not exactly something I've been able to control. I've destroyed every relationship I've ever gotten into because the thought of you is like this road block that just doesn't let me move forward," he paused for a breath, like he couldn't talk and breathe at the same time, before continuing on. "I know this isn't news to you and I'm not good with flowery confessions, but I've got a problem and admitting the problem is the first step to recovery, not that I think I'll recover. It's still a worth a shot,"

Lydia's mind was screaming at her. _SAY SOMETHING. SAY ANYTHING._

Nope. It didn't work.

"I'm freaking _in love_ with you!" he exclaimed.

Lydia had known it, or well, she'd claimed to know it for half of her life. Yet when the words finally tumbled out of his mouth, they were like gun shots. They made everything tangible, concrete, they made her heart flutter and her stomach drop like a stone. Lydia had never actually expected to hear him say it; especially not like that, especially not under these circumstances. For once in her life, she was left speechless, flabbergasted, shell-shocked.

Every word in the dictionary that described this trainwreck of a feeling that literally made her insides feel like they were on fire, like she'd swallowed a burning star. It was hard to look at him. It was even harder to look away.

Stiles ran a hand through his wild hair, it looked like a tornado had hit them; in a good way.

Lydia didn't tell him that he'd managed to mess them up even more. She ignored the sudden urge to raise a hand and fix them for him. "I know it seems unfair, that I'm dropping a bombshell on you like this, you obviously don't expect something like this out of me. I'm plain, boring Stiles, right? I'm not the typical bad boy you usually fall for. I guess we're both caught off-guard. I don't exactly expect something like this out of myself, either. Scott's always been the bold one, believe it or not. Sometimes I think he'd be a better Spiderman. Uh... _Point is,_ " he bit his lip. "Maybe I'm just delusional, but I felt like we really had a moment back there. On the night I revealed my identity to you. On the motorcycle the other evening. It's the only reason I'm standing here like a fool, it's the only reason I managed to talk myself into doing this. That little chance of something actually brewing between us," Stiles winced at nothing in particular, perhaps at something he said.

"I'm not trying to emotionally blackmail you or whatever. If you tell me I'm wrong, I'll walk away. I promise. I'll just... walk away," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the soles of his wet shoes. Stiles raised his hands up like he was surrendering to her. "Just let me know. Make it crystal clear what you feel, and I promise I'll get out of your beautiful strawberry-blonde hair. Okay?"

Lydia was floored by the desperation in his burning eyes. They looked like they would begin dripping honey at any moment, glassy and framed in that wide-eyed gaze. Stiles chuckled dryly when she couldn't respond. "I know I'm not your type, but I've had mild crushes on girls, you know. Sometimes, when I'm lucky, they like me back. Yet you single-handedly leave them all in the dust." All the words she was thinking of kept dying before they got to her lips. It was ridiculous. Stiles waited for an entire minute, staring intensely into her eyes.

That gaze was piercing her entire being, but she still couldn't get herself to reciprocate.

Stiles sighed finally, dumping his palms into his jacket pockets and shaking his head. "Okay. I get the message. I'll see you around, Lydia. I'm sorry... about... I don't even know, I guess I'm done embarrassing myself now," he turned on his heel and began to walk off.

And she didn't stop him. She wanted to stop him. She just couldn't get her legs to move. Inside her chest, her heart was beating like a hummingbird's, her stomach churned and hurt like there were ships hitting ice bergs inside her gut. Lydia watched helplessly as Stiles rushed into the back of a yellow cab that was parked across from her driveway.

That was when her feet began to work again.

Lydia wasn't sure what she was thinking, she wasn't sure whether she was thinking at all as she stepped beyond her doorstep and shut the door gently behind her; racing out into the pouring rain. Lydia was aware that she was clad in nothing but baby pink pajama shorts, a cherry red tank top and a matching cashmere cardigan - all of which were absolutely soaked within seconds, she was aware that she was in her house slippers.

She didn't care.

The cabbie must've caught her in the rear view mirror, because the cab that was slowly pulling out of her driveway backed up just a little for her, she caught a glimpse of Stiles' brown hair against the window and tapped against it. Spiky blades of wet grass kissed Lydia's feet and she pulled her cardigan closer to her chest, shivering in the cold rain. Lydia could barely believe that it was only five in the evening, considering it looked like dusk up in the heavens. The clouds rumbled irritably, a chorus of languid thunder claps, raindrops smacked at her skin at freight train speeds. Stiles' eyes looked black in the dim light surrounding them, if Lydia had been in a better condition, she would've taken a picture of the way his features glazed over with astonishment.

Hurriedly, he pushed himself back and yanked open the door for her, she quickly got in. Once she'd shut the door and the cabbie asked where they planned to go, Stiles asked him to hold on and Lydia just sat there, dripping wet and bleeding rain water all over the cab seat. She was in awe of her own actions, her heart was still beating ten times faster than a human heart should be beating, and now she'd soiled one of her favorite PJs.

She took a deep breath and stared straight ahead of her, she wasn't looking at anything in particular, in fact, her vision was so blurry there was a possibility she was going blind.

Immediately, Stiles yanked off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

"Are you okay, Lydia?" he questioned, rather gingerly, like he was afraid he was dreaming.

"You kids pay extra for soaking my seats, yeah?" the Irish cabbie mumbled from the front. Stiles ignored him, he was blinking at her, like he couldn't quite believe his eyes. She couldn't exactly blame him. She wasn't even sure why she was in the cab in the first place. "Lyd?" he repeated.

Lydia turned her head to look at him, and then clapped a hand over her mouth in a sneeze.

Stiles managed a soft chuckle. "You're nuts, you know that? Here," Stiles turned over and pulled a few tissues out of a tissue box at the back, handing them to her, shaking his head. "You should know you sneeze really cute though,"

Lydia had to scoff at that. " _Everything_ I do is cute to you," Stiles nodded. "Fair point."

Lydia smiled slightly as she wiped her face dry. "And _I'm_ nuts? You are the one who showed up out of nowhere in the freaking rain and confessed your undying love towards me like you just watched a Nicholas Sparks movie and had a lot of feelings about it," Lydia muttered. Stiles grinned sheepishly, "I should've brought a boombox."

Lydia laughed. "As far as grand romantic gestures go, you beat all the bad boys,"

Stiles' grin melted into another one of those intense looks of his, like he firmly believed he must've been dreaming. Lydia was surprised herself, she'd always been so aware of herself when she flirted with someone - not this time. Lydia swept her hair to the other side of her neck and watched him in enraptured silence. Stiles' t-shirt was sticking to his skin again, he'd mostly dried up but his hair was still slightly damp and there were halos circling his irises and he smelt like cologne and oxygen and salt water taffy. Lydia couldn't help it when her gaze fell to his mouth, his ultra kissable lips, his strangely angular jaw line.

"Stiles," she whispered. "Yeah?" his voice was hoarse, he probably felt the tension in the air surrounding them, as if the world around them was beginning to melt down and there was nothing but a transparent blue bubble and they were both trapped in it.

And in that moment - it hit her like a wave, it knocked her off her feet, but she felt like she would come up laughing. "Just tell me you mean it. I know it's stupid, just say it." Lydia's gaze was fire, it was melting his. Stiles gulped and nodded, momentarily stunned. "I meant every word."

That was all it took. Lydia practically latched herself on to him, her lips slamming against his like a car crash. Everything she was feeling suddenly doubled times ten, times twenty, times hundred, swelling like a chorus. Kissing Stiles was like eating rosy warmth and breathing golden light. Kissing Stiles was like kissing a real person, warm and alive and beautiful. It wasn't like Jackson's open mouthed, wet kisses, who often kissed like he was in a rush to get it over with. It wasn't like Aiden's short, sweet ones, lips that let go too quickly. Stiles' lips were bruising, blinding, breaking every bone inside her body. He was kissing her like it was the end of the world, he was kissing her like he'd done it a thousand times before. In that moment, it all felt so extremely right that Lydia couldn't imagine kissing anyone else. There was sugar at the tip of his tongue, it was laced with stars. Lydia didn't even want to pull away to breathe as she felt one of her arms automatically grab on to his neck and the other dipping into his hair like she was being pulled like a puppet on lusty strings.

His kisses were breathing life into her lungs.

When his lips finally broke away, her lips tingled and stung and her mouth tasted like drought. She felt his chest heaving against her own as his hands slipped around her waist and tugged at the hem of her tank top. When his cool fingertips brushed against the bare skin of her waistline, she almost lost all sense of being. It was like his fingertips were autumn leaves tickling her skin. Then his breath was blazing trails of red roses down her neck and towards her collarbones, hot lips like lavenders against soft milky skin. Lydia let out a soft moan and Stiles' lips found hers once more.

God. It was maddening. Lydia wasn't sure she would ever be able to function again, not without his lips on hers twenty-four seven. They kissed. They kissed for a long time. Lydia couldn't believe she'd spent most of her life without knowing what it felt like to kiss Stiles.

Lydia had spent most of her life avoiding magic and lust and rainbows. She felt like her knees were giving up on her, and her body was wiping out her brain. She felt like she was diving into the ocean, rushing down a rollercoaster, dancing barefoot on sizzling coals.

Kissing Stiles... it was a revelation.

"I guess we'll just take a little drive around the city then," a muffled Irish accent mumbled in the background, not that Lydia heard a single syllable.

Stiles

Kissing her was terrifying and wonderful at the same time.

Stiles had dreamt of this moment countless times, but those dreams couldn't compete with the real thing; not at all. No, the real thing was the satisfaction of finally being able to know what Lydia's cherry lip gloss tasted like, it was like kissing a lost love from a past life. Stiles couldn't let go of her, his kisses deepening along with the ocean of newfangled emotions that was slowly drowning his heart; in a fantastic way. There were several times when he had the chance to pull away but it was like his body needed to be against hers to function.

Stiles was breathless when one of them (her, obviously) conjured the strength to finally tear themselves apart. Even once that was over, Stiles had to take a few moments to get his bearings back, to remind himself to breathe, to wipe the stars out of his eyes. Stiles' breath didn't smell like his own anymore, it smelt like rain water and strawberries and Lydia.

It was insane, she was soaking wet and yet her perfume was so strong it hadn't completely worn off. It's scent was intoxicating and made his stomach pounce. For the next two minutes, there was only the sound of the traffic outside the cab and raindrops pelting against the windows and their ragged breathing.

The cabbie, to Stiles' relief, was completely blocking them out, staring straight ahead like they hadn't totally made out in the backseat of his cab. The rainbow raindrops that streamed across the window were creating a mirage of swirling motifs that reflected on Lydia's soft features like paint. Lydia's damp-from-the-rain hair was a disheveled mess of curls, spilling down her shoulders like a volcano of auburn erupted. The right strap of her tank top was falling off her shoulder and she was tugging the hem back down. Stiles couldn't help but fix his eyes on her blushed face, the way her eyelashes dipped as she looked out the window all frenzied, and the scarlet smudge on her lower lip; where he'd unintentionally bitten it; all caught up in the swirl of fervor. There was a purple-blue imprint on his own neck.

Marking each other's territory.

Stiles was so happy, he could throw up. He was so stunned he wasn't sure if he was dead or alive. It was when the cabbie cleared his throat that Stiles managed to speak, and still the words came out all shaky. "You... uh... You must be freezing. You want to stop by some - cafe, coffee shop - to uh, grab something warm and maybe a donut?"

Lydia blinked at him, like she was only just registering his words. "Are you kidding? I look like a homeless person," Lydia pointed out, gesturing to her unkempt hair, tank and shorts. "Scratch that. I look like a _wet_ , homeless person." Lydia complained. Stiles had to repress his laughter, considering the renowned fact that Lydia couldn't look crappy if she tried. She couldn't look generic even in those simples clothes and that messy hair.

Those bottle green eyes of hers flickered like emerald coals, his kisses had wiped away most of her lipstick but her pouty currently un-glossed lips looked slightly pink even when she didn't have it on, her flushed face was a rosy portrait. Her clothes had dried considerably, and her hair were only slightly damp, making them look wild instead of frizzy. It was impossible for Lydia to look anything other than stunning, no matter how she dressed.

"You look beautiful," Stiles muttered, rather nonchalantly. "Just like you always do. Now you don't want to wrestle a hungry Stiles, trust me," he joked, referring to himself in third person was something he often did when he was trying to be persuasive and epically failing. Lydia mustered a small smile. "Alright. I give up. Let's see if your taste in coffee is as good as your taste in -"

"If you say women I'm going to have to start calling you a narcissist, Miss Martin,"

"I was going to say music," Lydia bit her lip, a small smile like sunrise shining across her features.

"Right, because you know what kind of music I listen to," Stiles muttered.

"I've seen you wearing All Time Low t-shirts and I know you like Pierce The Veil. I love those bands too." Stiles gaped at her. "Really? I pegged you for a more pop music person, Kelly Clarkson numbers and One Direction and what not." Lydia made a face.

"Bleh. No way. I prefer darker themes when it comes to my music, and classics like The Beatles, Beethoven, The Zombies - that kinda stuff."

Stiles shook his head, unable to veil his absolute mystification. Lydia just kept surprising him. "What are you, Lydia? A unicorn?" Lydia laughed. "Certainly. A unicorn with good taste in music." Stiles chuckled as they finally approached their destination.

"I hope you unicorns can magically create money because I'd like to be paid double for what I have just witnessed," the driver muttered as Lydia's cheeks reddened once more.

Stiles bit his lip and rummaged through his pockets for his wallet. They paid the guy and scrambled out of the vehicle as quickly as they were able to without literally dying of embarrassment.

xxxxx

Lydia

It was impossible to avoid him now that she'd agreed for coffee.

They were seated across each other in a cafe called Jitters, by a big window with the rainy downtown New York streets glimmering through it. The welcome scent of coffee beans wafted through the air, and a waitress in a mini-skirt sauntered over to their table. Lydia made a face at the low-cut top she wore, which looked like it was just made to house a slope of cleavage. Lydia thought she wouldn't be caught dead in the outfit, it screamed I-just-want-to-get-laid-as-soon-as-possible. Tacky.

The waitress looked bored, and chewed her bubblegum rather noisily as she shot them a false  
smile and politely asked them what they would like to order.

The cute little cafe seemed isolated from the everyday New York ruckus, a city that wouldn't even stop in the camaraderie of poor weather. The downpour had slowed to a drizzle that would soon pass, the black-and-white clouds were already beginning to retreat, hopefully to make way for the sun and sprinkle a little warmth into the chilly air. Lydia regretted stepping out in her pajama outfit and her house slippers; which were now ruined due to wet pavements and dirt. She was glad for Stiles' jacket, which was surprisingly keeping her toasty and smelt like him. Like the dying scent of cologne and peppermint. Lydia was so in over her head. It was like someone had shined a light upon his face, constantly making it glow; standout like a billboard.

The cafe was bathed in dimmed lighting that gave the place a real vintage feel, and the quiet and carefully choreographed buzzing of voices. The old, miniature television in the top right hand corner was stuck in never-ending static, like it wasn't even purchased in this era. Quiet indie radio played softly in the distance.

Unfortunately, her mind was not on the pretty cafe she'd never been to before.

The fact that Lydia Martin had thrown caution to the wind and made out with Stiles was probably difficult enough a pill to swallow, add to that the fact that she was now practically on a coffee date with him in severely messy clothes and - a pale face mostly naked except for the traces of make-up that the rain or the kissing hadn't swallowed away - just made that pill enlarge to the size of a beach ball.

"I'll have the chocolatiest cold coffee you've got with double whipped cream and a sprinkled donut please - the frosty one over there with the vanilla icing," Stiles murmured without even sparing a glance at the menu she'd handed him and squinting his eyes pointedly in the direction of the donuts that were on display behind closed glass. "Also, please note that _double_ the whipped cream is supposed to be twice as much whipped cream as one would add if I had asked for _extra_ whipped cream; a lot of cafes I go to just don't seem to get that."

The waitress managed a tight smile. "How about I just hand you a can of Ready Whip, yeah?"

Stiles frowned and then shook his head. "I guess that'll work too."

His eyes found hers. "Lyd?" Lydia sighed. "Get me a black coffee and a chocolate pastry, thanks." The waitress nodded and shuffled off. Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. He'd always pegged her for a Cold Coffee girl, she even tasted like it when they kissed.

"That's a weird combination," he muttered. "Weirder than chocolate tacos?" she rose an eyebrow. A chocolate taco was a disgusting snack that Stiles began bringing to school for lunch almost every Friday since he was fourteen. "Oh. Don't you go there." Stiles pointed an accusatory finger at her.

"I'll have you know chocolate tacos are extremely tasty and filling."

"And _I'll_ have _you_ know, there are a lot of benefits to drinking black coffee," Lydia pointed out.

A nasty grin creeped up Stiles' features. "I'll make you some one day. I guarantee you'll be drooling unflatteringly all over your plate, and if you actually don't like the taste, you can make me do whatever you want for a week. I'll be a slave in your service."

Lydia rolled her eyes at him like _you know that isn't a punishment to you._ "Okay. Fine. I'll eat whatever you make me for a week."

Lydia was impressed by his confidence, she offered him a smile light as a heartbeat. "Alright, Stilinski. Get prepared to get burned."

Stiles' features lit up like supernovas.

"My place. Sunday night. I'll cook you a three course meal that includes chocolate tacos."

Lydia felt her heart contort inside her chest. It was a clever way of getting her to comply to an actual date. Thankfully, the waitress waltzed over at that very moment and handed them their orders. Lydia noticed that his jacket sleeves were so long they would fall in to her cup when she went to take a sip so she pushed them back slightly. It was when she finally lifted the cup that she noticed the jukebox in the back and squealed. "Jukebox!" Lydia cried. Stiles made a confused face. "What?"

"They have a jukebox!"

Lydia couldn't believe their luck, finding a little vintage cafe that actually still had one of those in New York City, of all places. Stiles strained his neck to turn around and look, breaking into a smile. "I wonder if it still works," Lydia was already on her feet, yanking a coin out of her purse and walking over to it. "Let's find out."

Stiles chuckled as he caught up to her and Lydia fidgeted around with the buttons. "Honestly? I never know how to work these things," Stiles admitted. "Don't worry, I can do it." Lydia responded, barely paying attention to him as she flipped through the music selection.

"Of course you can," Lydia frowned at those words. "What do you mean?" she questioned as she suppressed a chuckle. The jukebox had a lot of modern songs, including one of her favorite Maroon 5 classics. "You're a know-it-all, so therefore you know everything,"

"That's cute, but I'll let you in on a little secret. Au contraire to popular belief, I do actually not-know a few things," Lydia muttered casually as she flipped on the song. "Really? Name one thing you don't know or don't understand,"

 _This thing I have with you. This sudden, weird, ridiculous, lovely thing that I have with you.  
_  
Lydia shrugged. "I don't understand why you tease me on my smarts when you're a total nerd. You like comic books. You ace almost every test you give even though I'm pretty sure I've never seen you study. Plus... you figured out that I have an IQ statistically higher than your average person even though you barely knew me."

Stiles' cheeks reddened. "I like to think that it's a specific kind of infection, that Scott has dragged me down to his nerd depths." He explained.

"Takes one to know one, I guess." he added quickly.

Lydia smiled and instead of responding, she began to sing along to the song, taking him by the hand and leading them back to their table.

"I don't mind spending every day, out on your corner in the pouring rain, look for the girl with the broken smile, ask her if she wants to stay awhile," she knew she sounded terrible, but she was feeling spontaneous.

It was when Stiles joined in surprisingly, that her heart swirled like a rainstorm.

"and she willlll be looveddd, and she willl be looveedd," Stiles sounded tone-deaf and it was the most adorable thing in the whole wide world. Maybe that was when she fell for him, somewhere in between cups of coffee, sparkling conversation and him singing off-key to her favorite songs.

The waitress literally had to come and kindly ask them to keep it down as they were garnering icy glares from an older couple sitting across from them for being too loud. Lydia thought they were just totally jealous, reminiscing the old days back when they could be care free, before babies and mortgages and responsibilities. The song ended and so did their singing, but they couldn't stop laughing after that.

"You sounded like a cat being run over by a monster truck. Repeatedly." Stiles chuckled.

"Really? because you sounded a lot like a wounded chicken being throttled to death." Lydia spat back, in a playful tone rather than a serious one as she took a big sip of her bitter coffee that had quickly gone cold from being right under a rotating fan.

"I like this Lydia Martin," Stiles said, although it came out more-sigh-less-sentence. "I like every version of you, of course, but this one's the most beautiful. This down-to-earth, tone-deaf, laughing girl. It reminds me that you're only human, that the world doesn't have to spin off its axis for someone like me to get to be with someone like you," he muttered, doting on her with that starry-eyed expression and a whipped cream mustache that almost spread to the tip of his nose.

"Shut up," she said as she darted her gaze to stare at the bottom of the empty coffee mug. "Make me," he blabbed dreamily, in an obvious attempt to earn another kiss.

Lydia leaned over across the table, but instead of kissing him, she grabbed the can of whipped cream off the table and sprayed it in his face to complete his look. Stiles groaned loudly as she burst into bubbling laughter. "You look like Santa Claus!" Lydia exclaimed cheerfully. Stiles rolled his eyes. "You messed with the wrong superhero, Martin!" he snatched the can from her and squirted it on her, but it landed across her tank top instead of her face. "Ho, ho, HO!" Stiles cried dramatically. "So. Not. Funny." Lydia sprang off her seat and leapt onto his lap in a desperate attempt to snag the can of whipped cream, he kept extending his arm higher and backwards to keep it from her so they were intertwined in a useless entanglement of limbs and stickiness.

That was, until they got kicked out of the cafe for being 'noisy' and 'disruptive'.

Lydia laughed as they got into another cab, this time to drop her home. "Wow," she gasped. "I've never been kicked out of anywhere before. I guess there's a first time for everything," Stiles shrugged. " _I'd_ kick you out of a beauty pageant for being overly pretty and destroying the wilting self-esteem of a dozen other girls."

"You're ridiculous." Lydia said thickly, turning to him.

"I know. I'm Stiles Ridiculous Stilinski." Lydia burst into laughter again. "Don't make that name worse." Stiles tried not to look offended. "My real name would beat it point blank."

"And your real name is... ?"

"Not a snowflake's chance in hell, Martin."

"The world's most profound conundrum yet. Stiles Stilinski's real name."

"The world's too worried about Spiderman to give a shit about Stiles Stilinski."

"How's that going by the way?"

"Oh, you know... colorful. Saving cats from trees, rescuing puppies, alley fights, picking up the occasional damsel in distress..."

Lydia felt herself soften like ice cream on a sunny afternoon. Stiles was no longer grinning widely, his expression had sobered like he'd recalled something glum. The butterflies inside her stomach were sad because he was sad. She wished she could smash those butterflies dead.

"No," she breathed, placing a hand on top of his own. "How's it _really?_ "

Lydia tried to avoid the warmth that shot up her arm at the contact. And the way her heart dropped like a dead bird everytime Stiles sulked in that cute way. And the fact that aggravating things about Stiles' personality were now endearing to her. It was scaring her out of her mind. She'd felt like this once before, with Jackson, but at least she'd known where she was going back then. With Stiles it was diving in blind, like she was driving down a dark, endless road swathed in fog and her headlights weren't working so she knew she was bound to crash. With Stiles it was like getting so caught up in the moment that she often forgot to breathe. With Stiles it was like a brave new world full of dangers and wonders, gods and monsters.

Stiles stiffened at the contact at first, but soon eased into it and sighed, slumping in the taxi seat and looking away from her to avoid her eyes. "It's scary," he admitted, his voice so quiet it was barely even a whisper. "You spoke once about how being Spiderman's probably thrilling - and I don't deny the perks, but for the most part, Lyd; it's absolutely plain terrifying. There's bad people in the world... and - and you won't believe some of the things I've seen, like, imagine decades worth of psychological damage, okay? And now there's these superpowered freaks running around, amped up on some wacky Kool Aid and they want to kill me - to death," he shuddered, his shoulders slumping even more. Lydia felt his hand go stale underneath her own, so perfectly still she could be holding hands with a corpse.

It hurt her heart to see him that way. Maybe Lydia was falling for Stiles. Maybe she wasn't. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she was his friend, and she cared about him, and that it pinched her to see someone with a smile that could light up the skies be so down on the inside.

"It was a naive thing to say," she admitted. "I know it can't be easy, but think about all the wonderful things you've accomplished, every single life you've saved, you inspire people every day, and I think that's something to be proud about."

"I'm literally playing hide-and-seek with death everytime I go out there, which is okay with me, but one day, I know I'm going to charge into battle and I'm not going to come back. I'm worried about my dad, he'd... he'd forget how to live if I wasn't around. He'd _destroy_ himself. I'm worried about Scott, who'd probably want to kill me even though I'd already be dead -"

"Don't say stuff like that," Lydia cut him off. "They're not losing you. I... _I'm_ not."

The words spilled out of her mouth like leaking tap water. It wasn't flattery, she wasn't trying to make him feel better, somewhere in her heart... she meant it. She meant it with every fiber of her being. Stiles had always been _there_ \- in her life; whether she'd liked it or not.

"I'm not ready for you to not be here." Lydia openly confessed.

Stiles gawked at her like she was not even real, like she was maybe a figment of his imagination or an apparition. Those eyes of his widened and his lips parted in a gasp. He looked at her like there was nothing else worth looking at. It made her stomach tingle and her chest quake. In that second, he leaned in, gently this time, not consumed by passion, only appreciation. Lydia didn't move, she was extremely still, she didn't even dare breathe. Stiles' face got closer and then he closed his eyes, Lydia felt herself close her eyes as well. It was like her body was denying every signal her brain sent its way. She was helpless. Stiles' breath danced across her lips and cheeks - like a breeze that smelt like coffee and too-much-whipped cream; like dessert.

Lydia pushed her lower lip out a little, in order to kiss him, but instead she felt nothing there. No lips to kiss. The breath tickled her upper ear and then she felt him press his lips against her temple. Lydia's eyes flew open. He kissed her forehead, holding the kiss there for a moment before sliding back and adjusting himself into his previous position. The spot on her forehead where he'd planted the kiss throbbed slightly like a flower would sprout out up there. She felt like a freight train was running up her spine. Lydia's lips felt abandoned and she was taken by so much surprise that she was at a loss for words.

Again.

Because of Stiles Stilinski.

Stiles broke into the tiniest smile. "Thank you," he muttered. "For what?" she asked hoarsely.

"For the best day of my life."

Lydia would have replied, but then he got out of the cab and Lydia was staring at an empty seat and then she felt him behind her, she turned and he was holding the door open for her. Immediately, she realized they were parked in her driveway. "I believe this is your stop," he said. Lydia couldn't speak, so she settled for a vigorous nod as she stepped out of the cab and he slid back in.

Lydia simply stood there like an awestruck statue as Stiles waved her goodbye and the cab took off, leaving her alone on the sidewalk with nothing but a tidal wave of inappropriate thoughts.

* * *

 **A/N: What do you think? Did you like this chapter? Drop me a review and you'll dream of Dylan O'Brien tonight! ;)**


	10. Fire Meet Gasoline

**A/N: AND HI AGAIN. I just kinda wanted to announce that this story's gotten over 7000 views which is just like AFGKHONPORNOWRNORNQORFNOOINTIOKH *mind blown* *mind blown*. Seriously though? Thank you guys. And thanks to everyone whose been reviewing, please keep doing that thing. Anyway, this chapter is one of those long-time-coming ones that just HAVE TO HAPPEN for the sake of the characters. Someone had commented asking to see more fallout between Scott and Stiles over the fact that he hid his whole werewolf fiasco from him for so long while Stiles instantly told Scott about his spider fiasco. Well, this is the chapter where shit hits the fan when it comes to that situation. There's some important stuff going on with Lydia in this chapter, too. So yeah.**

 **Credits: This chapter contains dialogue adapted from Teen Wolf, Season 2, Episode 12, 'Master Plan'.**

 **P.S It takes hours to write, seconds to review. #justsayingkbye.**

* * *

 _you're just a daydream away,_  
 _I wouldn't know what to say if I had you,_  
 _and I'll keep you a daydream away,_  
 _just watch from a safe place so_  
 _I never have to lose you_

* * *

Stiles

He spent the ride back home with his head resting against the window and his eyes closed as he replayed the kisses he shared with her in his mind like a sick drumbeat that reverberated along with his heartbeat. By the time he got home, it was six in the evening and the skies had mostly cleared except for the occasional lingering storm cloud here and there, and the sun made its first appearance that day right before it set on schedule, peeping behind a ring of puffy pearl cloud like a glowing halo.

As he made his way to the front door of his house, his mind was on a slideshow reel of every mental picture he'd ever taken of the beautiful girl with the green eyes. _I kissed Lydia Martin today. And she agreed to a date. An actual date. With. Me. I freaking kissed her all over her face. On the mouth. Across cheekbones. Over her collarbone. Her neck. Even her earlobes.  
_  
The happy thoughts dissipated as the door opened in his face before he could even grab the spare key. The familiar face at his doorstep doused the flame of panic that arose in his chest. Scott knew where he kept his spare key for emergency situations. It was the look on his face that troubled Stiles afterwards. Scott's face was white as a sheet, like someone had drained all the blood out of his cheeks, his brown eyes were wide as chasms with alarm, and with his mouth hanging open in fear, it wasn't difficult to tell he was absolutely shaken up. "God," Stiles muttered.

"What happened this time? Did you lose your Call of Duty CD again?"

Scott shook his head vigorously. Stiles really wasn't used to his best friend looking so terrified. "They took her," he murmured the words as if they were too difficult to get out of his system.

"What?" Stiles asked, tapping his foot hastily on reflex.

"They took Allison!"

Stiles felt his own jaw drop. " _Our_ Allison? Where? Wait.. What happened?"

Scott grit his teeth and pressed a finger to his temple, still shuddering like a human earthquake. "I - she was on her way over to my place, and she... they had... they were invisible... but - but they had knives and I heard her scream. I was too late..."

"Hey," Stiles said soothingly, taking a step inside and guiding his friend by the shoulder. "Hey, calm down buddy. Just explain it to me using full sentences," he ushered. Scott nodded quickly and took a deep breath, Stiles could tell his nerves were driving him nuts but he looked calm enough to be able to talk again. "I got one of her scarves, I'm going to use it to track her scent. I need back-up so can you suit up immediately?"

Stiles took a deep breath and briefly glanced at the wall clock behind Scott's head, his father would be home soon, and his limbs ached and he needed to wash up - but this was Scott's girlfriend, and that made her a priority. Stiles nodded immediately, "Of course. Of course. Give me two minutes. Alright?" Scott sighed. "Okay."

Stiles tackled Scott into an embrace before he headed to his bedroom to change. "We'll find her. I promise." Scott smiled slightly despite himself. "Oh, we definitely will. I'll move heaven and earth for her. I'll freaking bite off the heads of those... _things_ that took her,"

Judging by the look on Scott's face, Stiles thought it was difficult to judge whether he was being serious or not. Stiles was usually the one cracking werewolf jokes, recently Scott had begun doing it too, only Stiles wasn't sure whether they were really jokes or not. Considering the fact that Scott could literally bite off heads now whenever he pleased was slightly unsettling but mostly freaking fantastic, so he let the thought drop.

Once Stiles had changed into his spandex suit and left a note for his father on the fridge, they poured into Scott's car (with the tinted windows for his 'protection') and were on their way to Allison's location, which Scott was going to dig out using his newfangled bloodhound senses.

He kept glancing at him every few seconds, and Stiles noticed.

"What." Stiles said.

"It's distracting," Scott grimaced. "You in that suit with that seatbelt on. You look ridiculous. Like you're on your way to a comic convention or something," Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Hey. _You_ were the one who asked me to suit up, and need I remind you that I'm going to hold your dirty little secret against you for the rest of your life? which is going to be short by the way," Stiles went on to say. Scott frowned at that. "Oh, thanks. Thanks for the confidence boost. You know, I've stood by you like a rock for most of my life, god forbid I've got something of my _own_ going on for once. Do I threaten you? Is that it? Do you think I'm going to take over your place as the city's resident freak?"

Stiles couldn't believe they were actually arguing about this, but he felt like he'd been punched in the gut with those words. "You are so beyond wrong it's almost funny. Scott, I appreciate you. I always have. You've gotten me through everything. You were there for me when my mom got sick, you were there at her funeral, you were there throughout the worst year of my life and after I got bit, I knew you were the only person who wouldn't judge or look at me differently. When I started all of this, you aided me. You are a _part_ of this Spiderman identity, Scott. I'm not tryna be mushy or weird. It's a fact. You helped build who I am today. Every life I save... It's because of you. Honestly, there wouldn't even be Spiderman without you, dude," he sighed before he went on.

"Am I pissed about the fact that my best friend hid his werewolf secret from me for so long? A lot, yeah; but I chose to forgive you despite that," he added.

"You know why I wanna keep you miles away from this? Why I want to keep Lydia away? It's because of the path of life that I've chosen. It's dangerous and it's scary and you could literally die at any given moment, _er_ \- more so than usual, alright? You're trying to dip your toe into the same lifestyle and it's gonna grab you by the ankles and drown you so there's no coming up for air. You haven't been taking this seriously enough. I'm in too deep to back away now, and I've grown to love doing what I do but if I'm being honest, I'd trade a normal life for this in a heartbeat. I don't want you to end up... however I end up, because it's going to happen one day..." Scott almost rammed them into the truck they were driving behind.

"Shut up, man,"

"No, I'm serious. One day I'm going to go out there in the field, and I'm not going to come back. It's an inevitability. I don't want that for you. Allison's life's already hanging in the balance. You started something pretty great with her, I don't want you two to go out there and get yourselves killed in this bitter mess. You don't deserve that. _She_ doesn't, Scott," he went on.

Scott opened his mouth to retaliate, but Stiles spoke up before he could. "And I've gotten closer to Lydia, Scott. We're closer than we've ever been. I got to kiss the girl I've been in love with for years but I would throw it away if I had a time machine because the fact that Lydia now knows who I am puts her in the line of fire. I'd rather spend the rest of my life without her than spend it knowing she could get hurt. If something happened to her... If something happened to Lydia..."  
his voice melted away because he couldn't even bear to say the words.

There was silence before Scott finally responded.

"I didn't think of it like that..." he sighed. "I'm bummed out right now and my mind's on fire, but when everything's okay and we rescue Allison and we make it out alive, we're going to get back to the you-finally-kissing-the-girl-of-your-dreams part. Okay?"

Stiles chuckled dryly and nodded. It was naive of Scott to say what he said, but Stiles was glad Scott was that way, it meant that he hadn't gone through the mental torture that came with this lifestyle. At least.. not yet.

And that was something.

xxxxx

Allison's scarf led them to an abandoned warehouse in the outskirts of the city, by the highway.

"God," Stiles groaned irritably. "These villains watch way too many horror movies. An abandoned warehouse at the side of town. How very creative," Scott shrugged. "I think it's bloody cool, who cares about clichés? I've always wanted to go to an abandoned warehouse."

Spiderman rose a finger to his lip, hoping his friend would keep his voice down. "We'll sneak attack," he suggested. Scott looked a little disheartened upon hearing the idea. "I was hoping we would be breaking down doors and flashing guns. You know, James Bond style,"

Stiles looked at his friend. "Hypothetical guns?"

Scott scoffed. "No. These puppies," he patted his own bicep. "I've been working out ever since I got bit."

"Who bit you anyway?"

"That's a story for another day... which, we _will_ live to see, might I add," Scott blabbered.

"Not if we kick the door down. You said something about these criminals being invisible," Stiles pointed out, to which Scott shrugged. "I... I'm not entirely sure, but I think so. I couldn't see anyone, and I'm pretty sure they were... _hurting_ her," Stiles heard a throaty growl resound in Scott's throat at those words. "If they are, they've already got an advantage. We don't need to give them one more by alerting them to our presence. Maybe... Just maybe, we can sneak up on them and have the upper hand," Stiles explained.

Scott nodded, but Stiles could tell there wasn't much keeping him from totally wolfing out and going bat shit crazy on the entire place. Spiderman examined the warehouse. It didn't look like much, probably made of old dying wood. It seemed like it was trying very hard to keep itself from falling apart. The air around them was musty with the smell of wet earth and gasoline. Spiderman decided to go around it and enter from the back.

He gestured for his friend to follow him and keep it down as they strolled round to the back of the warehouse towards a rusty door that seemed to be locked shut. "Got a sledgehammer?" Stiles deadpanned, to which Scott simply huffed and pushed past him, using his sharp wolf nails to pry it open. "You know for a genius with superhuman strength, you aren't particularly smart or strong," Scott murmured as the door swung open. Stiles felt his cheeks go hot at the jab, finding the need to defend himself. "I was just kidding,"

"Terrible timing," Scott responded, to which Stiles couldn't help but agree. The inside of the warehouse smelt worse than the outside, more moldy like the housekeeper used swamp water to wash the place. Scott was about to take a step ahead when Spiderman held him back. They could hear voices resounding through the thin walls.

"I'm going to get out of here," it was Allison. Stiles heard Scott suck in a breath. "And when I do, I'm going to kill you."

Considering her circumstances, she sounded composed; in fact, pretty brave. The relief quickly melted into fury when they heard her scream in agonized pain. They heard snickering. Two different voices. Scott tensed, and Stiles was pretty sure he was in the process of wolfing out.

"One more second," Spiderman whispered. "Hold on."

He peeped through a small hole in the wall, and he saw Allison in a chair. He couldn't make out much except for the fact that her wrists and feet were gagged and that she was pretty much bleeding. There was nobody else in the room, or well - it looked like there was nobody else in the room. Stiles spotted three shadows. "Jesus," Spiderman murmured. "How many of them are there?"

"I don't care. I'm going to tear each one apart." Scott responded, resentment lacing his tone. "With my teeth."

Before Spiderman could stop him, Scott raced past him and attacked one of the shadows. Spiderman sighed. "So. Impatient," he groaned as he followed suit, leaping out and spouting webs everywhere, if he could catch one of the invisible people in his webs, he'd be able to make out a distinct silhouette

. Easier to fight.

"Scott!" Allison yelped. It was terrifying, the way Scott looked with those blood eyes and those sharp features, in a frantic attempt to hurt his adversary. The webs finally hit the target and one of the invisible shadows was now traceable. "Spiderman! It's a pleasure, honestly, I was hoping you'd show up," he muttered. At least... It sounded like a _he_.

"Would you mind doing the same for me and showing up yourself?" Spiderman muttered casually. The silhouette cackled and Spiderman watched as he picked up a bat, swinging it around like a poltergeist. "Okay. I guess I'll take that as a no," he side-stepped and parried, dodging the baseball bat twice. The third time he wasn't so lucky, and felt it hard against his spine.

"If you _are_ going to continue on like this you wouldn't mind me interrogating you a little, would you?" Spiderman questioned casually, as if they were having idle chat over coffee. "Who are you working for?" he asked as he ducked to avoid a knife lodging itself in his eye. The knife landed on the wall behind his head. "You'll find out soon enough," he responded cryptically.  
"Let me guess," Spiderman said as he lunged at the silhouette, feeling something sturdy like a body against his own and punching what Stiles hoped was the dude's jaw. "Your Master wants me alive," the invisible dude coughed and spluttered before grunting and prying him off of him by lighting a matchstick Stiles assumed he had buried in his pocket.

Spiderman felt flame against his thigh and the next thing he knew he was tossed backwards right into the hard wall. He heard a sickening crack, he was pretty sure it was his head. Mr. Now-You-See-Me-Now-You-Don't got rid of the webs enwreathing him so his silhouette disappeared, and then he felt boots kicking him in the stomach. "My Master will just have to be disappointed," he growled, menace dripping from his tone.

That was when he heard it. It was like a roar of thunder, like an angry sky. It was a voice he would know anywhere, in the middle of the night, at the end of the world, in death. Lydia. He didn't know what she was doing here, but he knew that only Lydia could scream like that. And it hit him, the third shadow wasn't one of their adversaries at all - it had been Lydia; hiding somewhere between the shadows. His opponent faltered at the crackling of her dizzying scream, Spiderman took that as an opportunity to snatch the upper hand back, but Lydia was already on it. She conked the invisible guy with the baseball bat he'd dropped to the floor.

Spiderman heard him thump against the ground and Lydia used quick thinking to grab a blanket off the tattered green couch towards her left and drape it over the person so his silhouette was visible again. Spiderman could barely lift a limb. "Lydia," he cried. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Same thing as you," she shrugged, flipping her hair back. When Spiderman didn't respond, she rolled her eyes. "Rescuing my best friend?"

Stiles wanted to reply, but he got cut short by a scream that wasn't Lydia's. He swirled around and saw flames. Allison and Scott were in the midst of them. "One of them escaped," Scott shouted over the roar of the flames. Stiles was glad the mask was veiling how alarmed he probably looked right now, his heart began to flip inside his chest. Lydia shrieked. "Oh my god!"

The beastly golden fire was spilling all over like blood, spreading, growing; an untamable creature. The heat made his eyes water and his nostrils were attacked with smoke that made his insides churn. Allison and Scott were already coughing, Lydia was running about frantically, trying to look for something to douse the flames. No wonder it smelt like gasoline, burning them all alive was probably their plan from the beginning. Spiderman didn't think, he leapt over a bracelet of blaze and extended an arm, Scott urged Allison to grab it. She looked like a broken arrow, with dewy eyes and a nasty gash across her forehead, even her clothes were wrinkled and she had black and blue bruises all over her face and across her arms. Stiles ignored the heat raging up his ankles and towards his calves as she leapt onto him and he put her down on the safer side that wasn't enwreathed in inferno yet.

"Get out. Both of you," he commanded, eyeing Lydia who looked like she was ready to jump into the fire herself. Allison shook her head, tears shining in her brown eyes. "I'm not leaving him!"

"I'm not leaving _either_ of you," Lydia added crisply. "UM. GUYS. Look up!" Scott yelled.

All three of them glanced upwards. Stiles remembered his earlier thought about how un-sturdy this warehouse was. The roof was going to come apart and cripple them. "Son of a bitch," Stiles muttered under his breath, suddenly wishing his spandex was fire-resistant. It was Lydia who surprised him, rushing over towards Scott and tossing wet dirt from outside at the curdling flames. "I read somewhere that soil can help put out a fire, or at least calm it down. Scott! You need to wolf out, you'll have quicker reflexes, and you can make a run for it. You were partially covered in third degree burns before and made it out just fine. Do it again!"

Spiderman felt his knees buckle as Lydia got dangerously close to the flames to speak to Scott, who nodded vigorously. Stiles watched his friend transform, his eyes changing color, his stance getting straighter. He raced through the flames, grabbing both Stiles and Lydia by the arms and yanking them away. Allison was the first to scamper out, the three of them followed quickly after her and collapsed on the wet grassy earth. Scott took a handful of dirt and put out the part of his pants that had literally caught on fire. Stiles had almost forgotten that Scott had superhuman abilities and insane healing powers. They watched the warehouse fold in on itself like a house of cards in a storm, flames licking every inch as it collapsed in a fit of debris.

Stiles yanked off his mask, breathing heavily after a major coughing riot. "I couldn't get him out in time," he mumbled. One of the invisible guys who had attacked them, the one who Lydia had hit over the head, was still in there and Stiles doubted his newfangled abilities included immortality or resurrection.

"It wasn't your fault, man," Scott muttered. "Yeah, to be honest the guy got what he deserved," Allison shrugged nonchalantly. Lydia, Stiles and Scott all turned to look at her. "What?" she frowned. "It's called karma?"

Stiles knew it in his heart of hearts that Allison was totally right, the guy got what was coming to him, and maybe he deserved punishment, but it didn't make him feel any less guilty. Allison shuddered and Scott was quick to forget all about the dead man inside, Allison was looking like she was super close to passing out. Lydia was glancing at her best friend in concern too. "What did they do to you?" she questioned softly.

Allison shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut in dismay. "Lots of... Look, it doesn't matter, okay? We can go fix me up at the doctor's but listen... They revealed themselves to me, I know exactly what they look like, and I kind of recognized them,"

Stiles frowned, biting his lower lip. "How?"

Allison coughed some more, he could tell she was having trouble speaking. "She can fill us in later," Lydia muttered sharply, in a mother hen voice he didn't know she possessed. "Scott, grab your car we're taking her to the closest hospital."

Allison shook her head no, and continued to speak, completely ignoring her best friend's advice. "They were felons. I... saw their faces in a magazine once. I don't remember their names but I'm pretty sure they were caught and imprisoned for murder and attempted murder. They... must've escaped. They were brothers - twins. If you could just look through NYPD's records on twin murderers -"

"We'd have our guys." Stiles nodded, suddenly intrigued.

Scott met Stiles' gaze at that. Their suspicion was beginning to ring true. More prisoners broken out running rampant around the town amped up on crazy and superpowers. Wolfram & Hart was beginning to seem more canny a candidate by the minute. "Come on," Stiles sighed as they all got on their feet. "I'll drive us to the hospital."  
xxxxx

Lydia

"Hold on," Stiles groaned, she could hear his footsteps behind her back, she kept walking.

"I'm not done with you!" he exclaimed loudly. Once they'd drove Allison to the hospital and gotten her checked up, the doctors said she was going to be just fine but that she had to spend the night at the hospital just to keep herself from strain. They would release her in the morning. After a meal of Chinese noodles from the take-out place down the block, it was Lydia and Stiles' cue to leave because Scott insisted he'd stay up all night to watch over her.

Stiles had changed back into his Stiles clothes - a blue-and-white checkered shirt and washed up jeans but Lydia was still in the outfit she'd pulled on when Allison had sent her the distress text on her smart phone. Lydia knew that black skinny jeans, a pastel flowery summer top and a red jacket paired with knee-high boots wasn't exactly ideal superwoman wear, but she'd been absolutely miffed over what to wear - and at least she looked stylish kicking ass. It turned out she didn't own a lot of shady black outfits and she definitely did _not_ own a catsuit. Stiles caught up to her and blocked her path, raising both arms towards his sides to keep her from moving.

Lydia's gaze swept up from his shoes to his stupid head. "You do know I can just walk around you, right?" Stiles shook his head. "I told you, I'm not done," she rolled her eyes.

"Well, _I'm_ done. So please step away or I'm just going to _trample_ you," she crisply stated.

Stiles' eyes were searing; intense. He didn't look like he was up for banter. His lower lip was pursed, and his cheeks flushed, if she didn't know any better, she'd say he was pissed off.

Really, very pissed off.

"God, Lydia. I could choke you right now," he fumed. "Why do you have to be so difficult?"

Lydia shook her head in disbelief, a spark of irritation rising up like a flare in her own chest. "I'm exhausted. I'm irritated. I want to go _home._ How exactly am I being so very difficult?" she quizzed rhetorically, tapping her right foot against the cold ground. The night was slightly cooler than usual in New York, and Lydia felt like the wind was slapping at her face. The dim sky was moonless, but there were a few stars scattered across it like dumped from a bucket. They stood outside the hospital, right by the entrance where the distant din of traffic crackled and fizzled.

"You don't understand, do you?" Stiles muttered, still irked. Lydia was getting tired of his cryptic crap. "What are you even talking about?"

"You got a distress signal from Allison and you just leapt into the flames. Pun intended. You didn't even call me. You didn't even call Scott, or the police. Do you have a death wish?" Stiles thundered, his eyebrows furrowing just a little, gold eyes wide like the stars overhead.

Lydia's eyes shot skyward once more. "I don't have to answer to you," she muttered as she pushed past him, but he grabbed her wrist tightly. Stiles' fingers were cold, she felt shivers quake up her body like poisonous snakes. It was like there was ice over his fingertips. Lydia turned back to face him hesitantly, glancing at his hand clasped tightly around her wrist.

"Let go." Her tone was dangerously calm.

Stiles' grip didn't even loosen. Lydia's stomach felt like a hailstorm. "Not until you hear me out," he retorted. "Something could've happened to you. I know you think you were super brave and awesome for doing that for your friend. Yes. Things worked out, you even saved my life okay, but that doesn't change the fact that what you did was beyond _stupid,_ " he growled.

Stiles' grip loosened, but he still wouldn't let go. Lydia knew it would be futile trying to weasel out of his grasp, he was strong, even if he didn't make it blatantly obvious. "You see that's the problem. You don't care about getting hurt. But you know how I'll feel? I'll be devastated. And if you die, I will literally go out of my _freaking_ mind. You see, death doesn't happen to you, Lydia. It happens to everyone around you. To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're going to live the rest of their lives now without you in it? And look at Allison, huh? You actually think that was meant to hurt her?"

They stared intensely into one another's eyes for a few sizzling seconds. He was fire, she was gasoline, they were going to burn up; go up in fireworks, and they knew it. She wanted to retaliate with a comeback, but when his words actually hit her they hit her like stones and she fell weak.

Lydia felt her knees giving out at his words, her heart clenched like he'd poked a hole in it and her head was filled with static. She felt his grip loosen even more as he looked on at her with those broken rays of sunlight in his eyes, that powerful, absolutely deadpan look on his face... Lydia couldn't take it anymore. She shook out of his grasp and turned around, swiftly speed-walking until she was as away from him as she could possibly get.

She signaled for a cab, slid in and simply told the cabbie to drive, with her glass eyes raining tears and something inside her heart aching like a gunshot.


	11. Every Night Is Another Story

**A/N: This chapter is basically just a fluff-fest. Enjoy, and please drop a review.  
**

* * *

 _I know I've got my problems and it starts with me,_  
 _she saw something inside that I can't see,_  
 _and late at night, yeah, she'll comfort me,_  
 _hold on to me, hold on to me_

* * *

Lydia tried to focus on painting her nails.

She tried to focus on getting the ombre just right, on making sure the colors blended perfectly, on making sure the polish didn't get on the skin surrounding her nail beds. Nail polish therapy was lame, but she would do anything to keep her mind from wandering too much, from straying to that dangerous place that contained all the Stiles-related junk. It was bad enough that he was making her feel feelings, but the audacity of him to catch her in a vulnerable moment, to reduce her to a mess of jello legs and stuttering lips? So. Unfair.

It was like she was being punished, like the gods were sitting up in their royal chairs and laughing at her. Lydia sighed as she finished painting her pinkie and began to blow at the wet nails gently. She had her hair tied up in a quick bun that was beginning to loosen, sometimes Lydia couldn't deal with her own hair - she hated how they always fell apart and how her buns had to be packed so tight they literally hurt her head to even stay in position. She'd changed into a comfortable pair of PJ's and one of Jackson's old t-shirts that she'd stolen from him.

Lydia thought about Jackson for the first time in weeks and she wondered about how it all happened. Before the night of the formal, Lydia's mind was just Jackson, Jackson, Jackson all the time. Now it was like she'd forgotten his name, it almost felt wrong every time it lingered at the tip of her tongue. God, she'd been so mindlessly in love. Or so she'd thought.

Had that been love, really?

Her mother always told her that you fell in love multiple times in life and that it was okay; then again, her mother wasn't exactly an expert on love considering her own marriage was down in the dumps. Lydia's father was in town, but he preferred to stay at a hotel instead of at home with them since he was here on a business trip. He'd been here two days and he still hadn't gotten the time to meet his daughter or even phone her for that matter. What did she know about love? If she really knew what love was, surely she would've married a better man?

Lydia groaned, deciding that she needed to upgrade from nail polish therapy to music therapy. Lydia cracked a CD, and played the song, 'Stay' by Mayday Parade, a favorite of hers. Before Lydia could begin singing along, her phone buzzed, it was a text from Allison.

DUDE. MALIA TATE JUST TEXTED ME. - A

Lydia frowned at the text message, trying to recall the name.

Um. Malia who? - L

Malia Stiles' EX GF ! - A

Oh. - L

You don't even know, do you? Tall. Brunette. Pretty, dusky skin. She's in Psych 101 with us. - A

I still don't know who you're talking about. - L

Doesn't matter. She asked me if I know if Stiles is - and I quote, "seeing anyone". - A

Okay. - L

Seriously ? OK ? THAT'S your reaction ? - A

What do you want me to say? - L

Idk. I want you to call her a frigid bitch? Be pissed? Show some sign of jealousy? - A

Why ? - L

Wait. So... Let me get this straight. You aren't into him? - A

Nope. - L

I'll talk to you later, Ali. Just focus on getting better. Kay? Love you. xx - L

Lydia put her phone away after that; restarted the song and began singing as loud as she could.

 _"I'm not strong enough for the both of us, what was I supposed to do? You know, I love you..."  
_  
Lydia turned off the music when she heard his voice, singing her song. Lydia's gaze darted towards the ajar window near the foot of her bed, gingerly, she got off and walked over to examine it. Stiles was hanging on against the wall right next to her window and smiling sheepishly. Lydia gasped, checking both left and right to make sure nobody was seeing this.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she questioned.

"I came to see you," he responded simply, his smile weakening slightly.

"Well, _leave._ I don't want to see you," she muttered sharply, before adding, "and why were you singing?" Stiles shrugged. "I tried throwing pebbles at your window, I even tried knocking. It's like your ears are filled with coal." Lydia rolled her eyes. "So you thought ruining my favorite song was the way to go?"

"Hey, I like that song too, you don't own it. Plus, it worked, didn't it?" he grinned stupidly, eyes twinkling like highway lights. Lydia sighed. "Seriously. Go away. Shoo,"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I wanted to see if you were okay. I realized I upset you. I got carried away, I was... I wasn't thinking straight. Can we... talk about this? Preferably while I'm not stuck against your window like a moth?"

Lydia sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm not letting you in. My mother's home."

Stiles' shrugged. "You can come out then,"

"Absolutely not."

"Come on. Just take my hand. We'll just be up on the roof, it's only like a story up."

"No. Go," she pointed at the street below. "Unless you want me to shove you."

"Oh, Lyd. It would be a pleasure to be shoved by you."

"Shut up, Stilinski."

He made an adorable, irresistible face at her, sticking his lower lip out just a little like a puppy.

"Please?"

"NO!"

"Aw, come on. I've got liquorice."

"Really?" Lydia's eyes widened.

Stiles' grinned. "Strawberry. Your favorite."

" _Fine!_ Five minutes. That's it."

Stiles smiled, "of course."

Hesitantly, she took his hand and he wrapped his other arm around her waist, hoisting them up and helping her onto the roof of her house, which wasn't too high and was easily accessible. Lydia's house was in the quieter side of the city; deep within the suburbs. Momentarily, she could pretend she lived in a quaint little town off the highway somewhere. Their view overlooked a warren of identical looking cute little redbrick houses, mowed lawns and oak trees. The road was deserted, except for the occasional passerby vehicle or person. It was a long route that cut out into a curve that led back into the city, but that was on the far end of the neighborhood, and Lydia's house was in the perfect spot, firmly planted in the heart of the street.

The sky shone almost lilac due to the city lights in the distance and the smog, the stars played hide and seek behind wispy clouds. The night had warmed up a little, so it wasn't as cold as it had been back at the hospital. Lydia chewed on her strawberry liquorice, desperately trying to make her body forget about how close she sat next to Stiles, how his side brushed against hers, how he smelt like spearmint and cologne and coffee...

"Lydia," he breathed her name and chills irritated her spine. She didn't look at him. She stared straight ahead instead, at her perfect little suburbia in the middle of a giant city. "What?"

"About what happened back at the hospital..."

"We don't have to talk about that. Like, ever."

"We do," Stiles insisted. "What I said... I meant it, but it's more than that. I realize now that I was just taking something about you and making it about me."

Lydia frowned at that, turning to look at him as if maybe all the answers were written on his forehead in permanent marker.

" _I_ don't want you to die. _I_ wouldn't be able to handle it. It's not about you, it's about _me_ ," he elaborated.

Lydia was about to think up a response, but her mind kept coming up blank and it turned out she didn't need to say anything as Stiles continued.

"I don't know, Lyd. It's just... I've spent my entire life worrying about people. It's kind of why I took up this role of protector, you know? Now I've got Scott and Allison to worry about too because turns out my best friend was hiding an entire world from me," he groaned.

"I should be mad at Scott. I _am_ mad at Scott. I mean... After everything we've been through, it doesn't frigging make sense that I wouldn't be the first one he'd spill the beans to," Stiles went on. "Still. I forgave him. Not because he deserves it, but because I need Scott. I _need_ him. He was there for me, you know? Through everything and... I don't know if I would even be here without him. So just because I was terrified that I might lose him if I get into an argument with him, I didn't take the fact that he didn't tell me he was a frigging werewolf as seriously as I should have,"

Lydia frowned. "Are you saying you're selfish? because being an undercover superhero kind of tells a different story," Stiles shrugged. "Yeah. I save people, but I'm still plenty selfish, Lyd. Trust me,"

"You and Scott both ending up the way you did though... Pretty weird coincidence, right?" Lydia suggested, opting to change the subject before they cracked into another argument.

Stiles shook his head. "There's two things I don't believe in: coincidences and leprechauns," he muttered. "No, I don't know how it turned out that both Scott and I bought tickets to the cuckoo train, but it happened and now I'm terrified every moment of my life. I can't lose anyone else. Even before I became Spiderman, I just spent most of my days making sure I was keeping my father alive, he sucks at taking care of himself... Scott's the second most important person in my life, and now that I know he's at risk too..."

Lydia saw glass behind his cinnamon fire eyes, it made her want to run a hand through his hair and hold him close, it made her want to make him a warm cup of coffee and cuddle with him to make him feel better. A soft night breeze swept in from the north, ruffling his hair and bringing hers down in a mess of ringlets. Lydia groaned as she dipped her fingers in her hair in a desperate attempt to find the stupid hairband. "Hold still," Stiles muttered, leaning in (a little too close for comfort) and taking it out from her tangled curls. The rubber band was hanging above her right ear, Lydia tried not to shiver or explode as his cool fingertips made contact with the skin under her ear, trailing down to her neck until he blinked, realized what he was doing, and retreated; handing her the hairband. "Thanks," she responded lamely as she took it from him and wore it around her wrist.

Stiles sighed. "And Lydia, to see you there today, god damn it I almost lost all sense of everything. I'm not trying to be dramatic, but I'm pretty sure my heart was beating a mile a minute. I didn't want to have to worry about yet another person, especially you... because, because just the thought of... of losing..." Lydia shook her head. " _Shh,"_ she soothed as she took his face in her hands, gently brushing her thumbs against his cheekbones.

"You will _never_ lose me."

"That's what she said..." Stiles muttered softly.

Lydia frowned, her hands dropping to her sides. "Did you just make a 'that's what she said' joke?"

"No, no," Stiles ran a hand through his hair irritably, like making the words come out of his mouth was beginning to seem implausible. "That's what my mother said before she died."

"Oh."

"I miss her so much, Lydia. I still dream about her sometimes, and I wake up in a cold sweat and momentarily I forget that she's gone... when I remember again, I'm like seconds away from a panic attack. I know dad misses her. It's why he drinks so much. It's why he can't move on with someone else. Scott and I have been trying to get our parents together for a while now, but my dad's just never into it..."

Lydia wasn't going to say anything. She was just going to listen. Stiles didn't need someone offering him sympathy or pity. Stiles was strong, but sometimes even strong people needed to let out their frustrations, make some thunderstorms of their own, and Lydia wasn't one to shout at a raining sky. What Stiles needed was to pour out the emotions churning inside him like tsunami waves, and Lydia wanted to help him do that.

"She had frontotemporal dementia. It's a crap disease, and it's rare, like, super rare and yet it seized her out of all people... It's bad, Lyd. It uh... causes cell damage that leads to tissue shrinkage and messes with the brain's temporal lobes, affecting judgment and emotion... a brain slowly frying, degrading, collapsing in on itself..." Stiles' voice broke, along with Lydia's heart.

"Towards the end it just got worse... She couldn't speak properly, I'd watch her struggle to eat her cereal, she once packed me an empty lunch, she'd scream in her sleep... It would keep me up at night. I was with her when she... when she died. Dad wasn't. He still hates himself for it. It wasn't his fault really, even I blamed myself for a long time but it's nobody's fault," he continued.

Lydia extended an arm, running her hand up and down his back in a soothing motion. He looked like he barely felt it. Probably for the first ever time, a boy was numb to her touch.

"Anyway, I guess I just got paranoid after losing her. I mean, death is such a stupid thing. It's like erasing you from existence, everything that makes you who you are, gone within seconds with no explanation whatsoever... I know it's morbid, but sometimes I imagine her rotting in the ground. My _mother_. Her beautiful brunette hair stale and dead, her soft skin being eaten at by termites, her sparkling eyes to never open again. I can't even remember what she looked like when she smiled..." Stiles broke down, tears drizzling down his cheeks.

Stiles wasn't one of those guys who was embarrassed of his own tears, of his own emotions. He didn't care that he was vulnerable around her. He knew it was a natural, human thing to do; crying. It didn't make him 'less manly' or whatever (according to Jackson, crying in front of a girl, crying in front of _anybody_ \- was a sign of weakness). Jackson had it all wrong. Letting yourself cry in front of someone is a beautiful thing. You begin to build a castle of trust with walls thicker than brick, you let yourself truly connect with the person you're with. At least, that's what Lydia believed. Lydia thought those silver stars in his eyes just made him more endearing. He had all his walls down, he'd allowed himself to be raw and exposed - which probably wasn't easy for somebody who spent so much of their time wearing a mask.

Lydia felt something in her gut stab at her and she wrapped both arms around his shoulders as he shuddered softly, his tears soaking her skin. She simply held him for a few minutes, until he finally stopped and looked at her with those puffy red eyes, still beautiful in the starlight.

Lydia stared right back into his eyes, unafraid this time as she wiped away the last of his tears with her thumb. "Stiles," she breathed. "You're brave, you're sweet, and your mother would be proud of you," Stiles managed a small smile. " _I'm_ proud of you," she whispered and closed her eyes; beginning to lean forward. She felt her lips linger over his for a few seconds, only barely brushing but she could feel his hot breath tickling her own lips, then she inched closer and took one of his lips between hers and gently tugged on it in a single-lip kiss. She felt him react to the gesture, and she tugged on it slightly harder before gently letting go and kissing him again, without giving his lips the chance to recover.

Time stopped. The world stopped. There were swirling colors in her mind and warmth between them like a thousand suns. Stiles' lips responded to hers; almost immediately in sync. It was a brief kiss as Lydia felt herself let go, reverting back to her previous position. She didn't want to, but she was afraid if she didn't stop now, she wouldn't be able to stop herself later...

Stiles eyes were wide, he looked completely thunderstruck.

"You look like you've never been kissed before," Lydia muttered in a jocular tone.

Stiles attempted to shake himself out of it. "Yeah... That's what I feel like everytime we kiss."

Lydia could imagine her cheeks beginning to match the color of her lipstick as she took his cool hand in hers, rubbing her palm against his as if the hearth between them would somehow spark a fire. Stiles' fingers twitched between her touch as she warmed his hands. "Come on," she squeezed his fingers. "Let's go to my bedroom."

xxxxx

Stiles

Let's. Go. To. My. Bedroom.

Let's. Go. To. My. BEDROOM.

Stiles had imagined her saying that in a hundred different ways, in thousands of different circumstances, in a million different dreams. Of course, Lydia didn't mean it in the way he thought she did, but hell if he gave a shit. Simply being in her company enticed him, it brought out the sun in him and cleared every storm that churned regularly inside his gut. Lydia letting him into his bedroom wasn't just a sign of trust, but it was a sign of her letting him in to the concrete angel of a wall that she had constantly built around her. Sure. The wall was still sturdy, but there was a passageway inside now... And Stiles was sure that given the time, he would eventually find a way to tear it down completely.

Stiles had been to Lydia's room before, he'd memorized the interiors. As she led him in through the window, he recognized the night lamp shaped like a blue angel on her bed stand, the shelf with the butterfly magnets, the lava lamp that glittered in every color of the rainbow by the opposite window, the polaroids that adorned her purple walls, the fairy lights enwreathing her bed's headboard. Lydia's room was pretty, kind of like her. It was even alive with the scent of her: peach and rose petals, cinnamon and buttercups. Lydia switched off the lights.

"What uh... What are you doing?" Stiles knew his voice was hoarse, he couldn't exactly help himself.

"Don't get any bright ideas, I'm only just going to let you sleep in my bed. Nothing more. Nothing less." Lydia snapped, and Stiles felt himself biting his lower lip raw as she began to climb atop her queen-sized bed. Stiles knew he would regret suggesting it, but he wasn't brought up to be anything other than a gentleman. "I could just go home, you don't have to..." his words deceived him as he glanced at her face. Fierce emerald fire pupils fixed in a sharp glare that basically meant they would be doing as she pleased. "Shut up and get in," Lydia commanded as she pulled the covers up to her waist and stopped there. Stiles cleared his throat and nodded, yanking off his jacket and leaving it on the chair as he gingerly approached her bed once more.

 _God._ He thought. _Every night with her is another story._

Stiles felt strange, like he was about to step foot into a shark tank. Lydia simply watched him expectantly, with fireworks in her eyes. Stiles yanked off his scruffy converse and climbed into the bed beside her, firmly keeping to his side of it. He tucked an arm behind his head and let the other one rest to his side as he stared up at the rotating fan on her ceiling. He heard Lydia scoff besides him and shift, and suddenly there was a leg curling atop his leg, an arm wrapping around his stomach, and a pretty red head upon his chest. Stiles could feel her breath against the material of his t-shirt.

In that moment, he was stiff as a statue and he'd forgotten how to breathe. "Lydia," he stuttered. "What? I felt like you needed a good cuddle," Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, his heart flipping like it was suddenly trapped inside a bouncy castle. "Lydia..." he repeated. "What?"

"I don't... I can't breathe," he muttered. Lydia laughed. "That's sweet," Stiles shook his head. "I literally don't think I remember how to breathe," Lydia's head jerked up and her green eyes began scanning his for any trace of ironic humor. When she found none, she simply blinked and ran a hand through his hair, her face merely inches away from his own.

"Why are you so intrigued by me?" she questioned, breath tickling his ear. There was sparkling curiosity alive in her eyes, she truly did seem floored by how enraptured he was with her. Stiles wished she could see herself the way he saw her. If she could, she'd realize that his behavior and his feelings weren't over the top at all.

"Intrigued? I'm _enchanted_ ," he half-scoffed, half-chuckled and then began to breathe again, Lydia smiled and dropped her head back on his chest. Stiles felt himself loosen up as he draped an arm around her back and played with her hair. "Do you feel better?" she breathed.

"I feel transcendent."

He wasn't even exaggerating.

"Stiles," she muttered. "Yeah?" his voice came out more timid than he'd aimed for.

"You'll be with me, right?"

"Always."

"You'll be with me even at the end of the world, won't you?"

"Cross my heart."

Seemingly satisfied with his response, her eyelids fluttered shut like butterfly wings. She fell asleep within minutes. He must've watched her for hours. He knew he wouldn't forget this feeling for years.

She tossed and turned a lot in her sleep, and around two am, they were practically spooning. Lydia's spine tucked against his torso, his arms laced around her, his lips brushing her peach-scented curls. Stiles thought it was the best night of his life. Every night with her was the best night of his life. He became fixated on every little thing she did in her sleep. Not in a creepy, sexual way. Stiles would never take advantage of her. It didn't matter how amazing her body felt cuddled up against his. He had a handle on his urges; even when it came to Lydia; who tested his restraint like no other girl had ever come close to doing.

Stiles had never had the opportunity to simply admire her before, not in this way. He took in the way her sizzling ruby hair fanned out across his chest, small wisps getting caught between her lips as she breathed in and out. He stared at her slightly parted lips- lush and full, just made to be kissed. Plump and inviting. Her demure little nose would wriggle every once in awhile, like she had to sneeze in her sleep. He even found himself captivated by the simple rise and fall of her chest, placing a hand over her heart just once, to feel it thumping lightly. Her heart beat sixty-one times a minute and she breathed fourteen times in a minute. Only, every three minutes her breathing would stutter slightly and for that minute she'd breathe twelve instead.

He wasn't able to sleep that night, not even in the perfectly silent room with Lydia laying right next to him. There were too many swirling thoughts in his head ready to distract him. When he finally did manage to get Lydia induced thoughts out of his head; he was beginning to worry again. About The Flaming Man's threats and Wolfram & Hart. About everything.

When he looked back at the girl peacefully sleeping beside him, angelic in every single way, he thought _. I'll never let anything happen to her_. Lydia wasn't perfect, Stiles knew that now. When he was a little kid, Lydia was just as perplexing and untouchable as the big bright moon that hung in the sky, and just as beautiful and illuminated, even. Now he saw the faults she strived so desperately to veil. The way she applied a bit too much of concealer to drape the shadows under her eyes, the way her lipstick sometimes stained her front teeth, the way she sometimes grew too lazy to brush her hair so they'd be in a tangled mess and running his hands through it got difficult.

The faults made her human. The faults made her more than just this perfect princess he used to see her as. The faults made her even more beautiful than he'd imagined.

And he wouldn't let them touch her. It wasn't about ego or macho pride, he wasn't trying to play the role of the protective boyfriend as she had very promptly suggested. He was more than aware that Lydia was strong and independent, and that she was capable of taking care of herself. It was simply the fact that he felt the need to protect the ones he loved. He would do it for Scott. He would do it for his dad. He definitely would do it for Lydia. It was as inevitable as the moon rise or the tides crashing ashore, Stiles had found the person he was willing to die for.

With the thoughts of a the beautiful girl next to him echoing in his head, his sleepy eyes finally shut.

xxxxx

In the morning, he was jarred awake by irrational screaming and a stiff neck.

Stiles groaned, rubbing the back of his aching neck and blinking vigorously to get his bearings. Lydia was standing atop the edge of the bed, her hair a wild forest of strawberry blonde ringlets and her puffy morning skin burning a light crimson. Lydia's eyes were wide with fear, and she was screaming at the top of her lungs. Stiles was surprised she hadn't woken the entirety of Manhattan. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and frowned. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"It's in the room!" Lydia exclaimed, breathing heavily. Stiles was instantly alert, on his feet with his hands spread out to either side. "Who? What?"

Lydia made a face and pointed at a something on the headboard. "Spider!" she cried. Stiles' jaw dropped as he turned around to examine a harmless little black spec on the headboard.

"Aw! Come on, Lydia. Seriously?"

Lydia shook her head vigorously in annoyance. "Get it off my bed!"

Stiles blinked. "You know... Technically -"

"I don't care! Just get rid of it, Stiles!"

Stiles rolled his eyes and strolled towards the headboard. "Come on, little guy, let's go," he whispered as the spider crawled onto the palm of his hand. Lydia rolled her eyes. "It's a spider, not a pet dog," Stiles shrugged, ever since he'd been bitten, he had a newfound appreciation for the arachnids. "You know, spiders have a bad rep. Most house spiders are harmless, plus, they're kinda cute," he muttered as he opened the window and let the spider out of the room.

"I don't care." Lydia huffed, sighing in relief as he shut the window and crumpled back to the bed on her knees.

"So you're afraid of spiders, huh?" Stiles smirked as he dropped back down on the bed beside her. The girl turned to look at him, a hint of something playful and sardonic brimming from her pink lips. "They _terrify_ me," she responded. "So I terrify you?"

Lydia blinked. "Who said anything about you?"

"I thought we were doing the thing where we indirectly address each other," Stiles muttered softly. "Plus... I _am_ Spiderman after all."

Lydia smirked. "I'm pretty sure you're the one whose intimidated by _me_ ,"

"Oh. I am," Stiles agreed. "Have you met yourself? You're overwhelming." Lydia took a deep breath and let it out, absentmindedly twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. "You think so? Do you think I'm... unapproachable or something?"

"I think you're very approachable. I think you're a really nice person... but I think you put up a front. You behave like you're above everyone else at school and it freaks people out."

Lydia shrugged. "Confidence is everything. When I was a little girl, my mom pushed me into all kinds of stuff I wasn't in to. I remember being five and looking up at a magical sky full of stars and telling my parents that I would soar space someday. My mother had other ideas. A haze of ballet classes and piano lessons later and I'd transformed, fooled myself into believing that I was the girl who wore satin gowns and smiled politely at everyone I met. I guess the persona stuck. I gave up on my astronaut dream. I began getting into Disney princesses, I fell in love with The Little Mermaid. My parents got so frustrated when the only name I answered to was Ariel," Lydia chuckled, now fidgeting with a strand of uprooted red thread that was sticking out of her bed spread.

"It's amazing, Stiles. How you can fool people into thinking of you whatever you like. It's all about confidence and poise. So I treated myself like a queen, and others began to do the same. I guess... I just spent a lot of my life being scared of getting hurt so I wore a facade and it worked like a charm. I'm in too deep now. I'm always going to be like this."

When he didn't respond, her pupils scanned his for something, anything. "Do you think I'm totally fake?" Stiles gasped at that, finally meeting her eyes. God. There were buried treasures in her eyes. He shook his head, leaning closer and resting his own fingers atop of hers, tugging at the same thread she was playing with rather nonchalantly. "I think you're brave," he admitted.

"It makes sense why you did what you did. It's smart. It's safe, but maybe it's time you step out of your comfort zone?" he suggested. Lydia frowned at his words, staring down at their entangled fingers enlaced with the deep red thread. "The red string of fate," she mumbled under her breath. Stiles bit his lip. "What?"

"It's this stupid East- Asian legend I read about once. An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break."

"Oh," Stiles mused, eyebrows furrowing.

She shook her head and shot off the bed, like something in her had suddenly changed, a gear shift, a short circuit. Something in Lydia's eyes flickered and dimmed, fizzling out like spark. "I think you should go," she said. Stiles knit his eyebrows together. "What did I say?"

"Nothing. It's not you, it's... "

"It's me? Don't feed me some bullshit breakup line, Lyd."

"Stiles. Please, just... It's getting late, I have to get ready. If my mom comes in..."

"Okay, okay. I'm already on my way out." He groaned, lifting himself off her bed and scampering towards her window. "Thank you." She called out as he shot her one last look before darting off.

There was something newfangled in her expression. It echoed in his own and he didn't even know it.

 _Fear._


	12. War Of Hearts

**A/N: This chapter was just... really fun. Angst. Emotional Games. Beer-pong. Jealousy. ;)**

 **Need I say more? Enjoy.**

 **And. Review. Maybe? Okay?**

* * *

 _Your past-times consisted of the strange,_  
 _and twisted and deranged,_  
 _and I love that little game you had called_  
 _crying lightning._

* * *

Stiles

He stopped by the police station after he'd showered and gotten dressed.

He strolled through the station until he got to his father's office door, the one with Sheriff Stilinski embossed in shiny silver cursive. He knocked twice. "Come in," emanated a stressed voice from inside. Stiles stepped in, softly shutting the door behind him. "I come bearing tacos!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm immediately diminishing once he saw the state his father was in. He was swarmed with paper work, sitting in the midst of a sea of files and highlighters.

John Stilinski barely spared a glance at his son, rubbing his temple irritably. "We're beginning to worry about our containment system. Prisoners just keep disappearing from their cells... If I don't find a solution to this chaos soon, I'm going to be in trouble," his father didn't say it, but Stiles knew 'getting in to trouble' didn't mean being shunned to go to a corner or being suspended from duty, 'trouble' was police speak for getting fired. Stiles placed the bag of food on the table and narrowed his eyes, skimming through some of the files spread out across the table. "They won't fire you," Stiles gulped. "They can't."

Mr. Stilinski shrugged, "They definitely can. I can't even blame them. I'm failing my duty..."

"Dad," Stiles muttered sharply. "You're doing your job perfectly fine. You're just..."

"I'm in a slump,"

"You are _not_ in a slump. This case is just a bit tougher to crack than the rest. You're stuck in a conundrum. A very _temporary_ conundrum. You're respected in the force, you've been working for them for ever since I can remember, I'm sure they wouldn't do that to you..."

Stiles wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself, or his father.

"Don't worry, son. We'll figure things out. I promise, we'll be fine. Now you get to tell me why your butt's not in school," John said, whirling the subject. Stiles grimaced. "I woke up late?"

"Go. To. School." He ordered. "Let me handle the police work,"

"Dad. I... uh, I'll admit I've been on the scent of this case myself. Don't kill me. Listen. I just wanna help. In every way I can. You have to keep your job, alright? Plus, we've solved tons of cases together. You know I'm good at this Sherlock stuff. Anyway... I may have gotten a lead. I'll tell you about it, but first I need to confirm this piece of information... Can you let me take a peek at those records?" he babbled, grinning stupidly and sheepishly.

The Sheriff glared at him with an expression made of ice for a long time before finally complying. "Fine. Just this once because I'm having trouble with this case," he muttered dejectedly. "Yes!" Stiles grinned, pumping a fist in the air.

"So a friend of mine was recently attacked by one of those... creatures that are running rampant on the city. Of the supernatural variety." Stiles added. Mr. Stilinski looked dubious, he was having a hard time buying all the supernatural stuff, but he nodded and gestured for him to continue. "Or in this case, two of those. They were twins. I... uh, I need to know if there are any records on a duo of crazy killer twins having recently vanished from their jail cells."

Sheriff Stilinski looked surprised. "Actually... yes," he said, trudging through the mess of paper work towards a grey cabinet that held more documents. He shuffled through one of its drawers and yanked out a white file marked with red and stamped 'unsolved'. "Terry and Tommy Jordan, Uh... They committed several murders when they were on the run together before the NYPD got a hold of them from an undercover source in Mexico. They escaped, or er... disappeared from Keegan County Jail about three months ago," he explained.

"Sounds about right," Stiles responded, getting hyped up about the fact that his suspicion had definitely been right. _Thank you Allison!_ Mr. Stilinski frowned. "Wait a second... Are you implying what I think you're implying?" Stiles nodded quickly. Mr. Stilinski raised an eyebrow at his son.

"You seriously think someone has the mojo to not only make prisoners vanish from their cells, but also to somehow... boost them with superpowers to rave around the city?"

Stiles made a face that made it look like he had about seven chins. "When you put it like that, it sounds crazier than it did in my head. But, dad, think about it. How many big time criminals have escaped from jail in these past six months? Now think about when all this supernatural mayhem began - about three-four months ago. If you take a close look at some of these so-called creatures in photographs, you'll notice they look somewhat familiar."

Mr. Stilinski rubbed his chin, but Stiles could tell he was winning his father over. He had a pretty strong argument. "Call your guys. Get them to run facial recognition on every superpowered criminal they can catch on camera." He insisted. Mr. Stilinski nodded. "Wait. There's more. This is gonna sound nuts,"

"What could possibly be more nuts than this?"

"I have a feeling that Wolfram & Hart's got a hand in all of this. They might be the only ones with the resources and the money that it takes to pull off such a stunt. And I know. It seems implausible, but they're a corporation that runs on aiding douchebag criminals, so when their lawyers fail; what do they do for their clients? They bust them out of jail and load them up with magic powers so they're free to play out their revenge."

"Yup," Mr. Stilinski muttered, shaking his head. "Considerably nuttier."

xxxxx

Lydia  
 _  
Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine...  
_  
Counting sheep wasn't helping. It was another sleepless night and Lydia was tossing and turning in her bed like it was made out of jelly instead of comfortable mattress. Everytime she closed her eyes she saw his face. She saw those eyes that always looked like they had sunlight trapped in them, even in the dark. She saw those winter lips of his, those awfully kissable lips that controlled her every heartbeat when they touched her own. She saw that look on his face that was beginning to haunt her dreams. God. That look that assured her that she could give him a universe with a smile.

 _Do you think you're in love?  
No, no, no, no...  
_  
Lydia refused to believe she'd fallen in love with Stiles Stilinski. She was too afraid to even think the thought. All these days, Lydia had considered the tumbling inside her gut and the racing of her mind when around him to simply be enticement or infatuation, but she was sure now that it was something larger, deeper, scarier than that. Complicated. Lydia had never known what she felt for Stiles, she was always drawing blanks when it came to him, never knowing what to make of him. With Jackson, heck, with every guy that had come before - she always knew where she stood, even if she was head over heels; she knew it.

Not to mention she was always the one in control, always calling the shots. With Stiles... She lost track of the world, of herself. She couldn't control her own actions, her own thoughts, her own feelings. Everything that she did when she was around Stiles didn't just surprise Stiles, it surprised her too because she'd never know how she would react the next time their hands happened to brush against one another. Feeling like this for Stiles was a new thing, she definitely wasn't falling for him when she first met him, in fact, she'd hardly ever noticed him looming around her like a shadow all the time. Since then things had changed and suddenly he was a billboard of lights, he was bright neon, he was a fairytale.

Like someone had drenched him in spotlight, like a light bulb had illuminated somewhere.

It wasn't because he was Spiderman. At first, that's what she thought it was, but it wasn't. Lydia had lines of boys fawning all over her all the time, but most of them just fell for her exterior beauty, none of them really knew her; none of them even wanted to. They offered her praise, complimented her hair or her eyes, but their words were just sugar-coated, empty attempts at getting in her pants. It was true. She'd been used for sex time and time again by boys she had given her all to but Stiles was the first guy to see her for who she truly was, surging right past the facades like his eyes held x-ray vision.

Stiles hadn't fallen in love with the New and Improved, stiletto-wearing, eyelash-fluttering Lydia Martin, he'd fallen for the little girl with the sunset hair who sat across him at school. Before she got pretty. Before she got popular.

That's what struck a chord with her.

Stiles was the first guy who seemed to genuinely mean it when he told her she was beautiful. Stiles didn't just think she had a gorgeous body, but he also thought she had a gorgeous brain.

He was also cute and sweet and in love with her.

Stiles... Lydia began to realize, was everything she ever wanted and it petrified her.

She was too afraid. Of what, exactly? She wasn't quite sure. She was afraid of what being in love with Stiles warranted. She was afraid of love itself. She was afraid of him. She was afraid of herself when she was around him. It was dangerous... falling so deep down the rabbit hole.

Lydia's stormy thoughts were suddenly interrupted by her phone's constant chirping.

It was three am, and Allison was calling. Lydia felt her heart skip a beat as she fumbled with the touch screen to answer it. "Ali! Are you alright?" she'd come to a paranoid level of panic and concern ever since Allison had gotten kidnapped and hurt. "Wow. Relax. I'm fine, I'm just calling to talk to you about something," she explained. "I'm sorry. I just feel like I've been a horrible best friend lately. I've been so tangled up in my own stupid -"

"Are you kidding?" Allison cut her off. "If there's anyone here who needs to apologize it's me. _I'm_ the one who got so swept into Scott Town that I totally abandoned you. And then there's all the stuff with my psychotic family... Still, I should've made time for you. It's coincidently why I'm calling actually, I want to make it up to you," she went on to say.

"I'm listening," Lydia grinned. "Well... I'm making it up to the both of us, technically. It's just... I almost died, you know? And yet I didn't. I feel like I want to celebrate that, embrace it. This whole week I've just felt so spontaneous, but I was in recovery and I couldn't do anything about it. Now I'm better and I have a proposition," she continued.

"Let's hit the road. Head upstate for a road trip, somewhere away from the city."

"Just the two of us?"

"Actually... I asked Scott and he's totally up for it. I was thinking you could ask Stiles..."

"Absolutely not."

"But -"

"Allison, _no,_ "

"You haven't spoken to him in a week and he's going to go for Malia's stupid party if you don't whisk him away with us," Allison said. Lydia felt her heart twitch. "Um. What party?"

"Malia's friend's having a birthday bash and she invited Stiles and Scott. Stiles is going, Lyd. He thinks you don't want to be with him."

"Let him go. Let him have the time of his life with that skank. I couldn't care less."

"Really? Why is she a skank, then?"

Lydia bit her lip. "I don't know. She just is."

She could almost imagine the brunette giving her a don't-try-to-fool-me-I-can-bloody-see-right-through-your-bullshit look and grimaced. "Come on, Lydia. You aren't telling me you're just gonna let him raise his hands up in surrender and walk away? What about the whole you move on before they move on policy you told me about when you broke up with Jackson?"

"That doesn't apply to Stiles. None... None of my dating rules apply to him," Lydia murmured softly, in her defense.

"Have you been watching the news? Stiles has been taking out his frustration on random criminals. I don't know what happened between the two of you, but I prescribe getting your shit together before Tuesday morning, which is precisely when I'm dragging the both of you on our road trip. Okay? Love you, bye."

Lydia wanted to protest, she wanted to more-than-protest, but the other line already went dead.

Now she was thinking about Stiles in the arms of another girl. In the arms of not just any other girl, but his ex-girlfriend. His gorgeous ex-girlfriend. It made her want to throw up, so she downed an anti-depressant and went to sleep.

xxxxx

"Don't do it, bro," Scott warned warily.

"It's just one party. It's not gonna hurt. It's not like I'm gonna go make-out with Malia or anything," Stiles muttered defensively. "Yeah, well - you better not. Backlashing is ugly, dude. Plus, she's so obviously not over you. Every time she looks at you I swear it's like she wants to swallow you whole; eat pieces of your flesh and viscera for breakfast."

"You have a very vivid imagination. Anyone ever told you that?"

"Sorry. Werewolf side effects." Scott grimaced, scratching the back of his neck as Stiles finished spraying his deodorant, almost emptying the bottle in the process.

He knew he looked different, he even felt different. Back when Stiles was dating Malia, he was more-dork, less-appealing. Always wearing plaid and button-downs and keeping his hair cut short. The boy who looked back at him in the mirror was from another galaxy. He was clad in a black Henley and khakis, his hair was a messy ocean of dark chocolate as he'd let them grow out enough so that they curled around his ears a little, he smelt like expensive cologne and mints.

Scott whistled. "God you look hot," he muttered. "Please don't cheat on me, I love you,"

Stiles rolled his eyes. He agreed to Scott, he did look better but he also didn't truly look like himself. It was stupid, it was all so stupid because he wasn't even interested in the party in the first place, he certainly wasn't interested in Malia Tate anymore.

"Of course not, babe," he winked jokingly. "You're my world."

Scott scoffed ironically at that. "Go tell that to Lydia Martin,"

"Shut up."

He didn't want to hear about her. He didn't want to hear her name, even. After all, she was the reason he wanted to get away and lose himself at some party with a bunch of people who would help keep his mind off of her. "So you gonna have a drink at this party?" Scott questioned, something akin to concern veiled intricately into his faux casual tone.

"Drinks. Plural. Yes. What's a party without alcohol?"

"Not a party," Scott replied. "Which is exactly what I want for you. To not go. Look, according to Allison, Lydia really does like you back, I don't want you to botch this all up with her just because you've been PMS-ing all week. Lydia's not the kind of girl you want to piss off,"

Stiles scoffed. "Lydia made up her mind. She didn't even bother checking up on me after that night. I think it's clear how she feels."

"Dude, she's probably just afraid of getting her heart broken or something,"

"Are you kidding? I'm the last guy to break her heart. I've been in love with her forever and she knows it. So that makes like zero sense."

Scott shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "Girls are weird and complicated. Maybe she has another reason. Maybe she has ten. What I'm trying to say is that right now you've got a chance with her, but if you go around doing something or someone that you shouldn't be doing... You might lose her forever and then I feel like you're going to regret it and come weeping to me. Look, I've dealt with I-hate-the-world-and-everything-about-it you and I don't have the energy to deal with that version of your sorry ass again. Got it?"

"Okay, mom. May I leave now or would you like to tie my shoelaces for me first?"

"Rot in Satan's butthole, dickwad,"

"Again with the gross imagery," Stiles murmured nonchalantly as he stomped out of his room.

xxxxx

Stiles wasn't one for house parties, but considering Malia's friend's house looked more like a five-star hotel than a home, Stiles figured it wouldn't be so bad.

The mansion looked like it was made of pearl-white diamonds in the dim glitter of moonlight and streetlights. The cobblestone pathway that led up to the main doors was adorned with hedges and grass sculptures on either side, the leaves of which were swathed in glimmering fairy lights. Even the barks of the trees surrounding the house were caked up. Stiles knocked twice and smiled shyly at the pretty girl with the black hair and blue eyes who opened the door.

"Hey. You must be Alice," Stiles grinned. The girl giggled, her eyes slightly glassy indicating that she was totally high. "Sheee is mee, and you arreeee?"

"Uh, Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. I'm... Malia's friend?"

"Oh, oh. Riiiiight. Come on in!" she squealed, he smiled and handed her a present. "That's for you. Happy Birthday!" she giggled once more, took the gift, and disappeared into the sandstorm of gyrating bodies enwreathing her. Stiles would've stopped to admire the furnishing of the interiors if there was anything left to cover. The living room was a jungle. People spilled into every nook and cranny of the place like liquid, the golden walls were barely visible in the company of the dry ice machines and bubble machines that made it difficult to both see and breathe. The lights were dimmed, funky lamps and candle light illuminated the room, bathing the faces of a hundred dozen strangers in mystical rainbow lights. It smelt of sheesha and heavy perfumes. The speakers thronged dubstep and trance like incessant thunderclaps. Waiters strolled about the room, offering champagne and wine and eatables. Stiles pushed past people and made his way to the bar, where he found Malia.

Malia was dressed in a body-hugging mauve dress that showed off her figure in the best way, complimented by matching pumps and a silver pendant around her neck shaped like a star. Her newly dyed blonde hair was wild and her eyelashes were painted smoky and sparkly. She wore purple lipstick as well, making the chocolate of her eyes stand out considerably. She was taking a drag of hookah.

"Exotic party," Stiles grinned, gesturing at the hookah.

Malia smiled. "It's grape flavor. Have at it," she handed him the pump. Stiles took a drag, and it left a strange irritation in his throat. He handed it back to her. "I'm glad you could make it. I feel like it's been so long since we've hung out," she said softly. Stiles ordered himself a Whiskey on the rocks and nodded slowly. "Hey. As long as I remember, _you_ were the one who wanted to keep your distance from _me_ ,"

Malia pursed her lips. "You look good. Hotter. You're still the same, old, naive Stiles at heart, though? Aren't you?" she mumbled.

Stiles frowned at that.

"I was in over my head for you. I thought, "hey, here's this really nice guy, and he's so cute and he makes me laugh," and then I fell for you but there was always something so incomplete about our entire relationship. There were days I was convinced you were using me. That was when I realized that it wasn't your fault at all, you were just as blinded by love as I was, only for someone else," her words came out like a series of sighs. Stiles was sure she was buzzed, if not drunk. "I needed to stay away from you to get over you."

"Did it work?" he raised an eyebrow, his mind drifting back to Lydia, wondering if she was doing the same thing to him.

"No," she smiled. "Not at all... but, it did make me feel considerably less horrible," Stiles felt something inside his chest sting.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I... I'm an idiot sometimes. No, scratch that. I'm an idiot all of the time. If it makes you feel any better, I'm glad you dumped my sorry ass. You deserve someone so much better, Lia. Someone who loves you... the way -"

"The way you love her?"

Stiles gulped at the almost taunting tone in her voice. "The way you deserve to be loved."

"Right," she muttered, sighing. Tentatively, he touched his palm to her shoulder and rubbed it ever so gently, in a consoling manner. "I think coming to this party was a bad idea. Wasn't it?" he dropped his hand and finished his Whiskey in a single gulp.

"Nah. _Inviting_ you was the bad idea."

Stiles chuckled dryly. "I couldn't agree more."

He was on his way out, about to change his mind when he saw her. "Okay. Either that's Lydia or Lydia's doppelganger or I'm losing my mind," Stiles whispered to himself as he struggled to catch a glimpse of the familiar flash of strawberry-blonde hair he thought he spotted in the sea of people. Stiles thought he saw her in the corner of the hall, so he began to amble through the crowds, making his way towards where he last saw her, or thought he saw her.

When he saw another glimmer of auburn locks, he knew for sure she was at the party. He didn't know how or why, but his legs didn't give his brain the chance to comprehend anything as he quickened his pace, now pushing past everyone to get to her. When he reached her, his heart dropped into his stomach and he felt like his intestines were twisting into fifty different knots at the same time.

It was Lydia no doubt, and she had her arms all over some buff dude with dark brown hair, making out with so much fervor that she hadn't even seen him standing there, merely centimeters away.

"Lyd?" Stiles choked. She heard him; even though the bass was louder than the sound of his voice. He watched her stiffen and then pull away, rosy cheeks getting rosier.

Stiles literally felt his heart break as the guy next to her rubbed the back of his head awkwardly and then walked away. It was like a shot in the chest. It was like a stab in the gut. It was like going up in flames, drowning and collapsing all at the same time. He felt his fingers twitch, he wanted to punch any guy who touched her. There was fire encrusting his heart all of a sudden.

 _She's mine._

He thought. It was the simplest thought, but he'd never felt something like that before, that overwhelming need to be with another person. He still couldn't stop himself from admiring her mind-boggling beauty.

She could stand out in the middle of a hurricane or a colorful New Orleans festival. Lydia wore a stunning sleeveless dress the color of cherries that fell just by her knees. It showed off just the right amount of cleavage and curved in every perfect place. She'd straightened her sunshine hair for the night and she'd pushed them to one side of her neck so they cascaded down her right shoulder like silken cataracts. Her toned legs sparkled with glitter body lotion and she wore black, strappy six-inch heels that looked like their tips were sharper than blades. Lydia's pond green eyes were highlighted by shades of dull scarlet eyeshadow, pink mascara and more glitter splashed across her cheeks, her lipstick was the color of blood. She stood out like a constellation of red, a maroon sky in the midst of all the black and grey.

She bit her lip at the sight of him, playing dumb, even though Stiles had caught that evil twinkle in her eye. She knew he was approaching her throne, yet she pretended like it was the surprise of a lifetime. "Stiles," she mumbled, tilting her head to the side like she was an expert actress and running her fingers through her hair to straighten them in a faux show of cautiousness.

"Good golly! What are you doing here?" she chirped.

Okay. So she was being oh-so-sarcastic. Scott's words suddenly echoed in his head.

 _Lydia's not the kind of girl you wanna piss off...  
_  
Stiles had to bite his tongue to keep from cringing and dig his nails into his palms to keep from fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. He wondered what her game plan was. He wondered how she got into the party in the first place. He didn't wonder for long. Lydia could get herself into the White House if she wanted, probably with a bat of an eyelash and a sparkling giggle.

"I could ask you the same thing but I'm actually a little scared right now..." he responded, cautiously. Lydia pouted at him petulantly, and then suddenly broke into bubbly laughter. "I'm having fun, silly! Isn't that what people do at parties?"

"I guess?"

Lydia grinned, twirling a strand of hair around her finger flirtatiously. "I must've made out with five... no wait... _seven_ guys? It's so much fun! How much fun have you had, Stiles?"

"Not at all, apparently," he responded bitterly, his heart threatening to fall out of his mouth and hop on the next flight out of town. "Liar," she pouted once more, suddenly resembling a six-year-old. "I saw you with Malia. You looked like you were having _so_ much fun!"

"Look. Whatever you're doing. I'm not into it, okay? I was on my way out of here anyway. See you later." He spat, knowing he had to get out of there before he ended up bringing the whole party down or tracking down every single guy who she'd touched and broken every single one of their bones until they were reduced to bumbling tears and pissing in their pants.

Lydia strolled over to him, so effortlessly in those heels she might as well have been floating. Stiles wondered if those heels were actually killing her on the inside. At this point, he kind of hoped they were.

"No. Hold on," she cooed, gesturing towards a table where a bunch of kids were holding an intense game of beer pong. "Let's play. You against me. If you win, I'll do whatever you say for the rest of the night. If I win, vice versa."

Stiles frowned. He doubted he'd lose. He had come to realize he was freakishly good at drinking games, even though he didn't do much partying. "Lyd. Really, I'm not in the mood -"

"Oh, come on. It's just one game."

"I don't think so,"

Lydia bit her lower lip, her eyes looked a darker shade of jade than usual in the hazy lighting, making it look like there were probably entire enchanted forests in her pupils.

"Aw, Stilinski. You aren't afraid I'll totally kick your ass, are you?"

"No, what? Of course not. In fact, I'll... I'll eat your ass for breakfast," he cringed at his own phrasing. "I... uh, I didn't mean -"

Lydia smirked. "I've heard that one before,"

Stiles wondered if it was possible for the earth to simply open up a chasm right under his feet and make sure he plunged into its deep, dark depths. He felt like his cheeks were on fire as he stared down at his shoes, avoiding her teasing gaze. "I can't wait to make you cry," she grinned, her smile as light as a leaf but still heavy as a stone at the same time. "I hate to brag but I'm kind of a Beer Pong God, so... I highly doubt that," he responded, in his defense.

Lydia raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, dubiousness coloring her features. "It's _so on_ ," she grabbed him by the hand and they ambled past dancing couples and twerking females and drunk dudes to the beer pong table. Stiles leaned against a blue couch and watched as Lydia skipped over to a guy with a goatee (who was handling the game) and whisper something delicately into his ear. The guy nodded instantly. Lydia flashed Stiles a poisonous smile. "Two minutes. Their game's almost over. Then it's our turn."

"Okay. Teams?"

"Oh no," Lydia shook her head. "One-on-one,"

Lydia looked like she wanted to chop his head off, he wasn't quite sure what he'd done to piss her off, but he was pretty sure she was taking out some revenge on him and her tactic to deal with it was trying to embarrass him by having him lose to her.

 _Okay, Lydia. We'll play it your way for now._

He was into it, just because he wanted to see where she was going with this and how it would end; most probably in burning flames, but he was up for the challenge despite of that.

Eventually, the tables would turn, and when they did, everything would fall into place. He hoped.

xxxxx

Ten red plastic cups were instantly arranged in a triangular formation on either side of the table.

Lydia stood on one end, examining her cuticles and pretending to look bored. Stiles stood to the other side, tapping his right foot incessantly and fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt while Goatee Guy filled the cups half-way with fizzling gold liquid. Once their game was set up, Goatee Guy began filling them in on the rules.

"You two will take turns shooting the balls alternatively. When one of you has legal possession of the ball during your turn to shoot, you are deemed the shooter and the opposing player is deemed the defender. The shooter can shoot at anytime," he continued. "During a turn of redemption, the shooter shall only have one shot. If during this turn of redemption, the shooter sinks the ball, you will not be rewarded another turn of redemption. If the defender has more than one cup remaining, it won't be possible to achieve redemption. Got it?"

"What if I knock a cup over?" Lydia quizzed, reapplying her lipstick now, without the aid of a mirror. "Then it's a cup made," Goatee Guy responded. "Alright," Stiles sighed, cracking his knuckles so the bones underneath them whistled. "Let's do this."

"Okay guys," Goatee Guy announced. "Begin your game!"

Lydia picked up a table tennis ball and twirled it around in the palm of her hand, like it was a fruit she was deciding whether to eat or not. Stiles ran a hand through his already-messy hair impatiently. Stiles wanted to pay attention to her stance, he wanted to remind himself that at least temporarily, she was the enemy, yet he couldn't help but watch her. There was pure determination burning in those eyes, she had her lower lip caught in her front teeth and tides of her silky hair were spilling over her face, irritating her nose so it twitched slightly, adorably.

When Stiles blinked again, he heard people clapping and roaring in excitement. Lydia had made a perfect arc shot, she broke into a soft yet devastating little smirk. "Drink up, babe," she hummed. Stiles stared down at the ball that sat in his cup. He took the ball out and dropped it in the wash cup that was filled with water and gulped down the contents of the cup she'd made.

Goatee Guy whistled. "Great shot!" Lydia simply shrugged and rolled her eyes coyly.

Stiles took the ball out of the wash cup and began to aim for the cup that was closest to him yet past the boundary line. Stiles braced himself, silently promising her he wouldn't use his superhuman skills and cheat. Yet he found himself using a hard chopping motion to send the ball in a more direct line. It knocked the intended target down and doubled into a bounce, finally plopping into the cup behind the one that was knocked over. Stiles pumped his fists into the air in triumph. "Yes!"

Everyone whistled and clapped, a thin crowd already beginning to gather in a semi-circle around their table to watch. "Fastball! Amazing!" Goatee Guy clapped. Lydia shrugged and downed two cups of beer, she looked absolutely unfazed by his dexterity. Their game carried on, both of them being extremely competitive and giving each other a difficult game. They were both so good and so close - the perfect opponents. Lydia made multiple bounce shots, Stiles made about four fastballs. It heated up towards the end when both Stiles and Lydia had only a single cup left. Now it was either game point or redemption. Stiles was feeling lightheaded by that time, but he was still in his senses enough to make aims. Lydia's eyes were slightly dewy, but if she was buzzed, it wasn't showing in her expert shots.

Stiles swore half the party had gathered around to watch their intense match. Most of them were rooting for Lydia, obviously, but he didn't care, he wanted to beat her at something. Just for fun, to kick her off her high horse.

Stiles watched Lydia squinting at his cup, her fingers quivering as she attempted to aim properly. She threw the ball but didn't make a shot, Stiles heard a bunch of sighs from her admirers and rooters. She cursed under her breath and pushed her hair out of her face, her nostrils flaring slightly. Stiles tossed his ball up in the air and caught it. He was about to make his shot when he happened to glance at Lydia again. God. There were infernos in her eyes, Stiles could practically see the smoke fuming out of her ears. He wondered why it was so important for her to win. After all - it was just a stupid game. Stiles had been super competitive all the way up till now, totally ready to win the game and put her pretty ego to shame.

Now he wasn't so sure.

He subtly, purposely, landed a bad shot. Some more peopled sighed, others 'booed'. Goatee Guy laughed. "I guess they're both off their game, folks," Lydia scowled at his words and threw the ball, landing yet another great arc shot and winning the game. Everyone cheered, Goatee Guy popped a can of beer and spilled it all over his head, practically washing his hair with it and grinning madly.

Their audience began to chant: "Redemption! Redemption!"

Stiles purposely screwed that final shot up too. Lydia won. He wanted to know what she was going to do now that she'd won the game, he wanted to know why it mattered so much. Goatee Guy strolled over to Lydia and raised one of her arms in the air. "We have a winner, folks! The gorgeous girl in red! A round of applause!"

People clapped, people congratulated her on an awesome game, people began to disperse as Goatee Guy began setting up a new game for another couple of individuals. Stiles pretended to be a bit upset over the fact that he lost, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing.

"I was super close to beating you. If I could've just gotten one more shot at redemption -"

"Why did you let me win?"

Stiles blinked, playing oblivious. "What? Why would I do that?"

"You're better than me at this game, even without your Spiderman mojo. Why did you let me win? It's a simple enough question," Lydia muttered matter-of-factly.

Stiles gulped. He wasn't quite sure himself. "It seemed important... to you, to win, I mean. I wanted to know why." Lydia shrugged. "Now you get to do whatever I say for the rest of the night," she said, evading an appropriate explanation.

"I would, but I'm still Spiderman. I've got some stuff I need to take care of."

"You should take a day off."

"Nah. It's the best of both worlds. Look, even if I don't pull on my mask, I've got to get going. And honestly, Lyd? It's late, you should get going, too."

"No _sweetheart,_ " she purred patronizingly. "You can't leave just yet."

"Oh no, I really can," Stiles insisted, but Lydia had crossed the distance between them, and now she was standing right in front of him. In those heels, she was the same height. He smelt the bubblegum on her breath and the enticing perfume scent of smoldering flowers and vanilla. She looked like a huntress on the prowl as her eyes glinted like there were stars in them and she placed a sharp, perfectly manicured fingernail against his throat; almost digging into his skin but not quite. Stiles gulped, and he knew she could feel his heartbeat speeding up against his Adam's apple. "First we're going to dance."

She wasn't asking.

Stiles couldn't tell if she was playing nice or dirty, but she was freaking him out and his heart had melted like candle wax. He simply nodded, limp and helpless when it came to her touch as she broke into another sugar sweet smile and took his hand, leading him towards the other side of the house. Lydia's hand was confident and surprisingly cool against his clammy, trembling one.

"Lydia. What's this really about? Why are you behaving like this? If it's about me being here with Malia. We were just talking. It... It didn't mean anything, I -"

Lydia cut him off by turning on her heel so fast he almost bumped into her. Stiles felt his lips reduce to jello as she pressed her index finger to them. His breathing became jagged as her smile sent daggers flying into his chest like cupid's arrows.

"Shh. Don't talk. Just... _don't,_ " she said. Lydia turned back around and continued to lead him out, through the gigantic kitchen, towards a hallway and finally through double doors that led them towards Alice's back porch. They stepped out into the night and the icy air hit him like a dozen needles prickling at his skin, he wondered if Lydia was cold, she didn't look like she was feeling anything at all. The back porch was illuminated by a small yellow bulb that hung overhead and a haze of gold fairy lights swathing the fences so they painted the illusion of fireflies. On the opposite of the porch was a swimming pool, the still waters glowing a dim coral blue.

Lydia's face was an aquamarine mask in the reflected light. Stiles began to speak again but then he thought better of it as she wrapped her arms slowly around his neck. He felt like a snake was coiling itself around him, suffocating him. "Lydia," he muttered. "Lydia, stop. This doesn't feel right. Lydia, what the hell are you doing?" he felt her hips swaying against his own, to the faint din of the music that echoed through the thin walls from the living room, but she wasn't smiling at him in the way he pictured she would be, in fact, she wasn't smiling at all.

There was something so broken in her eyes that it made his chest hurt and his gut quake. Lydia barely heard him as she leaned closer, her lips ghosting against his neck.

"This is what you want. Is it not?" she intoned, her words like thorns and knives, her breath smelt like roses and vodka.

"Not like this," Stiles breathed, unable to keep the hairs on the back of his neck from standing on end, unable to keep his body from reacting to hers. He almost lost it when he felt her press her lips against his neck, right at the pulse point. Stiles shivered under her touch, somehow magically managing to stand absolutely still without stumbling and falling into the pool.

She pulled away, something foreign in the flashing of her eyes. "Honestly? I don't feel anything for you, Stiles. I just don't." He felt his heart plunge like it was on a broken elevator shaft. Had she been toying with him all this time? No, it couldn't have been. Lydia's words may have been lies, but the look in her eyes the night he held her couldn't have been, the way she kissed him... like he was her oxygen... that couldn't have been, the sweet smile she'd offered him just before she told him she was proud of him, that surely couldn't be a lie.

Yet he felt his shoulders slump and a vile creature inside his stomach was slapping at him.

Suddenly, whatever spell she seemed to be under dissolved and she blinked; eyes clear again.

Lydia began to retract, her lower lip quivering evidently. "No, no... This is _wrong,_ " she murmured, more to herself than to him. "I have... I have to go, I'm - I'm sorry," the grimace that took control of her beautiful features was as powerful as if an earthquake had hit her. She twirled around in a blinding glimmer of red and ran past the double doors right back into the party, leaving behind nothing but a faint scent of enticing perfume and saccharine.

Stiles stared on at the empty spot where her ghost still whispered I-love-you-nots into his ear.


	13. Weightless

**_A/N: Hey, hey, hey. Throw some confetti and a parade because I updated! I'm sorry if it's a bit late and a bit short. But the content's gonna make up for it. Prepare yourselves for an explosion of fluff._**

 ** _And leave me some kind words, a detailed review maybe even? What else? Ehrm... Yeah. I got nothing. Bye. Enjoy.  
_**

* * *

 _And we were just kids in love,  
the summer was full of mistakes we wouldn't learn from,_  
 _the first kiss stole the breath from my lips,_  
 _why did the last one tear us apart?_

* * *

Lydia

That absolutely broken look on his face was what had gotten to her.

What had she been thinking? Using her old bitch tactics on him, playing him like a fiddle despite the look that was breaking across his face like a storm. She hadn't even been kissing a bunch of guys, she'd yanked Danny, one of her good friends from school, and asked him to make out with her when she caught Stiles glancing her way.

Danny out of all people, who was incidentally, _openly_ gay.

Lydia was glad Stiles hadn't gotten the chance to get a proper look at him. The beer pong... What had she been hoping to achieve?

Maybe she was just drunk. Only she knew she hadn't consumed enough for that to be a possibility, but maybe if she kept feeding herself lies, she would feel a little less miserable. She knew she'd acted out in a fit of impulsivity and jealousy, but she couldn't help it, she got like that sometimes. Lydia stared up at the sky, a ruthless void of dark, chunky clouds. The air was warm and humid, and all Lydia wanted to do was go home and a have a good cry and maybe a bubble bath accompanied with tons of wine.

The clink-clank of her toothpick high heels sounded like war drums everytime she closed her eyes, everytime she thought about him. Stiles wasn't Jackson, he wasn't someone she was supposed to play games with. He'd even let her win that stupid game even though he was obviously better. She wondered if she'd ruined everything with him over a stupid hissy fit. Lydia knew she was afraid that she was falling for him and that she wasn't sure she was quite ready to delve into a serious relationship, but she was sure that she cared about him as a friend, and respected him for what he did for the city. Stiles was someone Lydia truly liked. Someone she hoped would stay in her life forever now that he'd already crashed into it... The sound of a car horn honking loudly jarred her out of her drifting thoughts.

When she glanced up at the source of the noise, it was none other than Scott McCall, leaning against his car with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes trailing her own gaze.

Suddenly, she felt like she was being stalked. "Were you waiting for me to come out just so you could dramatically honk at me?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll admit that's what it looks like, but nah. I'm here to pick up my boy and watch over him because I have a feeling he's going to be very drunk by the time he walks out of those doors," Scott explained, pointing at Alice's mansion behind her. "Right," Lydia muttered as she continued walking, hoping to amble past him without making any more conversation.

"Hold up," he called out, making Lydia roll her eyes and turn back around on her heel. "Yes?" she muttered between gritted teeth. "What did you do?" he asked point-blank. Lydia felt like he was pointing a barrel of a gun at her forehead. "Because I'm sure you did something," he added.

"You're speaking to me like I just committed murder and I don't appreciate it, McCall," she responded crisply.

"You might as well have. You always hurt him, Lydia. Even when you don't mean to. I've watched him moon over you ever since we were little kids and I'm sick and tired of watching his heart break every time you flash him an icy glare or don't acknowledge a friendly smile. What I'm trying to say is... If you don't like him, just let him know and stop leading the guy on. He deserves freedom from your reins," Scott said, genuine concern alight across his features. Lydia shook her head. "I'm not leading him on,"

"Right. You just kiss every guy you're friends with, right? _Right?_ Hey, you should kiss me," Scott grinned, leaning in sarcastically.

Lydia took a step back, suddenly feeling like she'd ingested a mouth full of sawdust. "I'm not lying," she muttered in a dejected, mousy voice. "I'm not leading him on."

She was hoping the look in her eyes would convey what her words failed to.

Scott's eyes widened. "So you really do like him back. Wow... Wait a second. Then what's the problem? Why aren't you two riding off into the sunset?" Lydia sighed. "For starters, because life's not a movie, and because I'm not sure what I feel, I'm never sure when it comes to him, and because I'm a little terrified of what this means..." her voice dispersed into the winds.

"Lydia," Scott's tone was gentler now. "You mean the universe to him. Hell, you mean infinite universes to him."

There was a tornado inside her stomach at his words. She wished she could tell Scott to stop exaggerating, but she found herself believing him. "He's probably in there right now, turning his emotions to whiskey until breathing and seeing is so difficult reality doesn't matter anymore," Scott muttered. "Just because that's the power you hold over him."

"And that's what terrifies me," Lydia spat. "I don't want him to be so insanely in love with me. I don't want to be so insanely in love with him. It'll... It'll _destroy_ us," she choked.

"Or it won't," Scott replied. "Or it could be wonderful and strange and everything you wanted out of life. You know... Before Allison, I never thought about falling in love. I didn't think I was the kind of person people fell in love with. Then I met her and my entire world spun, you know? The impossible began to seem possible? I didn't hate going to the movies, I spent a whole lot of time with someone other than my best friend," he sighed. "Look, I'm not going to tell you what to do and what not to do. It's your life, but I care about Stiles, even though I hope you never tell him I admitted to that, I do. So make up your mind and stick to your decision. Just spare him the soap opera. Alright?"

Lydia found herself sighing and nodding, suddenly feeling like Scott had bulldozed down the walls that enclosed her. "I don't know what gets into me sometimes," she admitted lousily. "It's alright, it's just fear of the unknown. We're creatures of habit, we're not programmed to take well to change; to comprehend what might seem difficult to interpret and it causes us to act out," he muttered, like he wasn't a teenage boy at all, but a hundred-year-old shrink who looked at her with eyes that were too old for this world.

"You think I find Stiles difficult to interpret?" she couldn't help but question.

Scott smiled slightly, ironically. "I think you find the _feeling_ you get when you're around Stiles difficult to interpret," he responded crisply. "You've been the queen bee all your life, you've always been smarter than everyone around you, you've always known where you stood. Stiles challenges you. He forces you to look at this world in different colors. He's just as smart; if not smarter. You never know where you stand with him now that you know him. You aren't in control and it _mortifies_ you,"

"And I don't know what to do with all of the pent up emotion! A few weeks ago, Stiles was just an annoying kid wrapped in plaid. Now he's... he's an enigma," Lydia went on.

Scott nodded. "Exactly."

She cringed. "I feel like a really bad person for behaving the way I did,"

"Don't worry about it. I'll handle him tonight. Maybe you should call and apologize later?"

"I'll do that..."

"Perfect. Now the session's over. Next time, please pay your fees before therapy," he prattled sarcastically. Lydia chuckled dryly and began to walk away before halting and turning to smile at him. "Thanks, you're a really good friend. Stiles is lucky to have you,"

Scott grinned. "That's what I keep telling him."

xxxxx

The ringing tone on the other end of the line was daunting as Lydia chewed at her lip, tasting her peach lip gloss and not-so-patiently freaking out over whether Stiles would answer or not.

She found herself rehearsing the way she'd phrase her words over countless times in her head.  
 _  
"Hey, Stiles. I'm sorry about the other night. I wanna make it up to you. Do you want to go for a road trip with Scott, Ali and me?"_

 _"Sorry for being such a bitch the other night. I think I overreacted. But how about we pretend like it never happened and go on a double-date road trip with your best friend and my best friend?"_

 _"I was PMS-ing the night of Alice's birthday bash."_

 _"I had brain damage the night of Alice's birthday bash but now I'm fine."_

 _"An evil spirit possessed me the night of Alice's birthday bash but now I'm back."_

 _"Sorry. Sorry. Y."_

 _"Wanna go on a super romantic road trip? I'll get you a donut."_

 _"Stop talking. Just dig yourself a hole and bury yourself alive in it."_

 _"Ugh."_

Lydia froze when he finally answered. "Have you called to make me feel like crap some more? If the answer is yes, please disconnect after the beep." Stiles made a stupid bleeping sound with his mouth and Lydia rolled her eyes. She couldn't believe it. Never in her life - not even when she was crushing hard, had she ever found the need to rehearse what to say because she never cared about what anybody thought about her. Now Stiles, out of all boys, was making her as conscious as ever and it was ridiculous. "I..."

 _DO. NOT. STUTTER._

"The opposite, actually,"

 _"What?"  
_  
"I've called to apologize,"

"Lydia Martin. I thought that word didn't exist in your world."

"Shut up. I'm trying to be considerate,"

"Is that a new update in your programming? Tell the scientists who designed you I appreciate it."

"Stiles!"

"Okay, okay. Fine. What's up?" he muttered with a scoff.

"God. Look... I don't have an explanation, at least, not one that justifies the way I behaved at Alice's birthday party, but I feel bad about it and I..." Lydia suppressed an ironic laugh of her own. "And I just spent the last twenty minutes trying to build up the nerve to call you, and then I spent another forty seconds trying to figure out what to say to you and I think that constitutes a second chance?" she muttered, squeezing her smart phone so tight that she was sure her knuckles were going white.

"Welcome to my life," Stiles chuckled. "Very funny," Lydia replied smoothly. "Look, I'm serious. I _am_ sorry. In fact I was wondering if you wanna go for that road trip with me. The one Allison and Scott are planning for the weekend," she added.

Lydia practically heard him gasp. "You're serious right now,"

"Pretty much," she muttered, hoping she didn't sound offended.

"So, Stilinski. Is that a yes or a no?"

There was silence on the other end of the line before he spoke. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay we'll go."

"Great."

 _"Great."  
_  
Lydia cringed. "Goodbye!" and cut the phone so fast she almost dropped it to the floor.

xxxxx

"The Atlantic Coast awaits you! Ivory sands, blue summer skies and tons of winding country roads!" Allison sang, reading from a pamphlet spread wide open in front of her face. "In place of the grimy concrete and soulless netherworld of the Interstate, this route passes through innumerable quirky seaside towns and timeless old fishing villages, interspersed with huge swaths of beaches, wetlands, and woodlands that have hardly changed since the first explorers laid eyes on them four centuries ago."

"Fascinating. Can we stop at a Taco Bell somewhere? I'm starving," Scott complained. Allison rolled her eyes. "Scott, you just ate thirty minutes ago," the dark-haired boy simply shrugged.

"Werewolf metabolism," Allison sighed. "Fine. We'll stop at the next restaurant."

"But I want Taco Bell," Scott groaned petulantly.

"And I want you to shut up but I guess we'll both have to live with never getting what we want."

Allison snapped. "Rude," Scott muttered beneath his breath.

This had been going on for a whole two hours and it was driving Lydia slightly insane.

Sometimes, Scott and Allison behaved more like a married couple than girlfriend and boyfriend, which she now figured was still better than the silent treatment she'd been receiving from Stiles Stilinski. They were in his jeep and Allison volunteered to drive because Stiles insisted his hands were cramping up, Lydia figured it must've been true because he'd been avoiding sitting next to her or even looking at her since they'd boarded the vehicle. Now the two of them were sitting at the back on opposite ends of the seat and staring out their windows respectively. Lydia kept glancing at him but he looked so zonked out he might as well have been on another planet mentally.

They were planning to stop by every little beach or resort that came on their way as they drove aimlessly around the Atlantic Coast, it was a two-day road-trip because Stiles couldn't take a break from being Spiderman for longer than that, and he'd sworn he would spend most of the road trip researching Leonard Stern and formulating strategies to deal with him and the rest of Wolfram & Hart. Plus, the twin who escaped was still out there somewhere, and even she wanted to send that crow to jail for what he had attempted to do to her best friend.

Lydia doubted it though, considering all he'd accomplished in the past two hours was proficient sulking. She'd figured he'd forgiven her after their conversation on the phone that day, but apparently he was playing hard to get. She looked out the window at the cerulean skies and the blurring interstate roads whizzing past. Allison halted the car at a gas station where Scott and Stiles got off and returned with four hands full of unhealthy snacks, sodas and beer cans. It smelt like gas and tire as they took off from the gas station, a strip of azure ocean lined up towards their right and rocky masses the color of wet sand on their left - even the foliage was much greener here; viridescent and ripe like leaves and trees that had just tasted the rain even though the sun was high and mighty; bejeweling cloudless blue wallpaper.

Another hour trickled past like water and Lydia had finally had enough of the gigantic elephant in the jeep. Before she could speak, as if Allison had heard her thoughts, the brunette spoke up.

"Why are you two so quiet at the back?" she questioned. "Stiles, are you okay? I miss your incessant jibber-jabbering oh-so-much," she added goofily. Lydia glanced at the boy whose pale cheeks spilled color at her friend's words. Stiles was wearing a white round-neck t-shirt and those beloved khakis of his, his hair was a bit of an uncombed mess, but he was beginning to keep it like that on purpose these days. Even his shoelaces were untied. Lydia wished she was close enough to smell him. In fact, ever since those kisses shared in the back of that New York cab, her entire being itched to be near him, connected to him somehow all the freaking time. It was like being in contact with his body would charge hers like batteries, like it would restore the blood back in her cold veins.

It was absolutely agonizing and it made her want to both slap him and make out with him at the same time.

Her heart was going to explode from all the pressure his simple presence was putting on it, her head would begin pounding if he went another second without acknowledging her.

"I'm glad someone enjoys my jibber-jabbering as much as I do," he muttered half-heartedly. "I'm fine. I'm just tired." Allison scoffed at the same time as Lydia mentally scoffed.

"You're being _boring._ Road trips are not allowed to be boring. This was supposed to be fun. Not just for us but for you guys too. Please, whatever it is that's keeping the two of you from interacting with each other, just sort it out. For my sake," when both Lydia and Stiles didn't say anything, Allison played the I-almost-died-card. "For the sake of the girl who had a brush with actual death, who was almost caressed by it,"

"Not the word I'd use, babe," Scott mumbled. "Yeah. I just heard what I said." Allison flinched.

"But you two get my point. So kiss and make-up. It's an order, not a request."

"Yeah," Lydia bit her lip and tilted her head in his direction, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. "I'd like to know why you've been keeping so uncharacteristically quiet as well."

Stiles' eyes flashed gold, or perhaps it was the bars of sunlight that illuminated the car as the sun began its descent for the day. He looked at her for probably the first time in hours. "I was thinking about Wolfram & Hart, and about Stern. My brain was on overdrive and I couldn't afford any distractions, but I must admit, I did feel like punishing you for the way you treated me at that party a little, too."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Well. Punishment achieved. Can we go back to acknowledging each other now?"

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Alright, but first, admit it affects you when I'm not talking to you," she simply blinked. "No way," she muttered. Stiles shrugged, "okay, then." And went back to smoothly ignoring her. Scott laughed and Allison shushed him.

Lydia frowned. "You are such a sadist. _Fine!_ It affects me when you don't talk to me. There. I said it. Now burn in hell."

Stiles broke into a sardonic smile. "Aw. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"I hate you."

"Right back at ya',"

"I seriously _hate_ you."

"Come here," Stiles took hold of her wrist and yanked her towards him. Lydia felt herself leap into his arms as if she were leaping into a pile of autumn leaves. She wrapped her arms around his neck, the familiar scent of cologne and spearmint and that little hint of after shave that was just so Stiles tickled her nose and she was home again. Lydia didn't know she had so many nerve endings, a firestorm was breaking out in each and every one. She pulled away from his neck and his lips dashed into hers so quick she almost missed the look in his eyes; the one where he looked like he'd been suffocating for a while now but he would finally be able to breathe again.

Lydia was pretty sure her eyes reflected the same light.

The kiss was so engulfing she almost forgot that they weren't alone, gently, he pulled away as if on cue. "I'm happy for you guys," Scott said with a grin. "Just uh... contain those emotions, okay? Let's keep the pornos for when you two are alone,"

Lydia kindly asked Scott to shut up and Stiles smiled sheepishly, his lips bruised from a kiss that still burned against her own like flames.

xxxxx

Stiles

There was something ethereal about the beach at midnight.

Allison stopped by a mostly isolated shoreline about six hours away from the city and insisted they spend some time there. Scott and Stiles then got a bunch of twigs and created a bonfire using a lighter he had stashed in his jeep somewhere and then sat by it, watching the flames grow and making s'mores from the stuff they brought from a grocery store a few miles down the road. Stiles didn't like the sand. He didn't like getting it in between his toes, he didn't like getting it in his hair. Sand was itchy and sticky, but for once - he didn't care.

Someone had put up a cabana near where they'd lit up their bonfire, it was illuminated with flickering candle light, storm lanterns and pearly white curtains. There were a few people there - other wanderers perhaps, and Stiles could hear one of them strumming their guitar softly, in tune with the breeze. It was only a distant tune, but it was pleasant and truly set the vibe.

The black waves crashed ashore and retreated in front of them, the Atlantic a dark glimmering world of its own. It smelt faintly of cigarettes, saltwater and vanilla perfume. Tranquility hung in the air. The night sky was smoke and stars. Constellations of celestial bodies scattered across the charcoal firmament like sprinkles. It was a bit chilly, and the waves brought forth strong winds from the north but it was a bearable cold.

Stiles was jealous of Scott, who'd dressed smartly in Bermudas, he hated to think of what would happen when he'd still be finding bits of sand in his favorite khakis even months from now.

Allison wore a white cotton crop-top and denim shorts, while Lydia was clad in a floral summer dress that made her aquamarine eyes dazzle. Stiles thought about how she'd mentioned loving tales of The Little Mermaid as a child, with her coppery hair whipping in the wind and that slight hint of enigma trapped at her glossed lips - he thought it would be easy to confuse her for a mermaid by the sea.

Allison was practically sitting on top of Scott. Lydia dropped her head on Stiles' shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her waist automatically. "Isn't my girlfriend a genius?" Scott mused.

"This place is heaven on earth."

"I could forget the world if I stayed here long enough," Lydia agreed.

Stiles smiled slightly at her words as he popped yet another s'more in his mouth. "Why aren't you eating?" Allison asked Lydia, spreading chocolate upon graham cracker. Lydia winced against him. "Honestly? I don't know how to make one," Stiles frowned, straining his neck to look at her. "Wait a second. You've never had a s'more?"

"Never."

Scott looked alarmed at her words, Stiles could relate.

"Lydia Martin. You've been missing out in life."

"That's a bit of an overstatement," she mused, raising her head to meet his eyes.

"You'll regret saying that after you've actually tasted one. If paradise had a taste, it would taste like a s'more," Stiles explained.

"It tastes like Jesus' poop," Scott added helpfully.

Lydia made a face and Allison smacked him on the arm. "No," Stiles muttered, grimacing.

"That's not how I would put it."

"Sorry, I was trying to be supportive," he shrugged.

"I think we can all live without your input, thanks," Lydia snapped. Stiles made a s'more for her. "Here, try it," he guided as she opened her mouth slightly and he fed it to her. They all watched her chew and gulp in impatient silence. "Mmmm, oh my heavenly _god_ ," she muttered, eyes still closed.

"You're right. I don't think I was really living life before I tasted this," she went on, mouthful of chocolate and marshmallow. "This is like ecstasy. Why get addicted to drugs when you can get addicted to s'mores?" she asked as she watched Scott and Allison and made a couple more for herself. Scott chuckled.

"It's a question I ask myself every day."

The four of them just sat there for awhile, talking and drinking in the scenery, high on love and youth and the taste of warm chocolate on a cold night. Everything swell until Allison suggested what Stiles had been dreading since they'd arrived. "Let's go skinny-dipping!" she exclaimed excitedly. Scott chuckled. "Hell yeah!"

Before Stiles could blink, the two of them shot up and began undressing. "You guys coming?" Allison asked, an ironic twinkle in her evil eyes. Lydia laughed hoarsely. "You carry on. We're good," she said, answering for him and therefore saving him from the embarrassment of admitting he was totally not comfortable with doing something like that; even though he had to admit it would've been enchanting to see Lydia without her clothes.

"Well, okay. Live your trivial lives," she giggled and raced towards the ocean, Scott shrugged at the two of them and followed suit. Stiles glanced at his friends; two flailing specs in the distance, dipping into a daunting sea.

"Thanks," Stiles mumbled, fidgeting with his fingers, avoiding her gaze completely. "For?" she asked, confused. "For answering for me. Can you imagine me skinny dipping? _Gah._ It'd be a travesty even if I don't totally drown or get sick."

Lydia laughed. "I can imagine," before grimacing awkwardly and biting her lip. "Not that I - imagine you, without clothes on, frequently. Uh... naked ish, _ever,_ why I am still talking?"

Stiles chuckled. "That's not how people say words," he teased, pushing his knuckles into her cheek slightly. Lydia groaned, pushing him away and pouting petulantly. "God. Sometimes I don't know if I feel more like myself with you or if I'm someone else entirely,"

Stiles frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. I'm just so... _different,_ when I'm around you, I always have been," she explained.

"That's obviously because you're a transformer," he muttered geekily, a joke Lydia disregarded.

"I remember when we were, like, fourteen. We were paired for a science project together. I called you over to my house that evening to study and my mom made us pink lemonade and you told me you liked how pink my room was. I felt like I could be honest and open with you... Even back then," Stiles nodded slowly. "I remember. You were telling me about how Courtney Baker was a total bitch, how she backstabbed you and stole the guy you had a crush on,"

"What was his name again?" Lydia laughed.

"Andrew Gellar. I don't honestly know what you saw in the kid, he had the thickest glasses in our ninth grade class and braces."

"But I swore he had the bluest eyes I'd ever seen, and I thought he looked really good in black,"

"You always see things others don't see in people," Stiles thought out loud.

"Andrew Gellar was always in detention. For cheating, for misbehaving with the teaching staff, for toilet papering the principal's office," Stiles recalled. Lydia nodded. "I always had a thing for bad boys," she admitted. "It was a pattern with you." Stiles agreed.

"Definitely not with you. It's like I'm cleansing myself of all my past sins by falling for a superhero. You're like baptizing me," Lydia joked. "That sounds so heavily wrong," Stiles chuckled.

"Who knew huh? You were such a dork growing up," Lydia muttered.

"I totally wasn't. I told you, it was Scott's influence. Scott was the mega-nerd, I was more of a nerd-beta," he muttered, in wolf terminology. Lydia rolled her eyes. "Oh, please,"

"Of all the kids in our sixth grade class, you were the only one who still cared about Christmas. You wore that awful Christmas sweater your grandmother knitted for you, with the reindeer on the front," Stiles winced at the memory, red coloring his cheeks.

"But that's the thing," she went on. "You didn't seem ashamed. In fact you seemed proud. You were never afraid of just embracing who you were. You didn't care what the other kids would think... I always loved Christmas, I remember I told you I liked your sweater,"

"I didn't stop smiling all day after that. I can't believe you retained that memory," Stiles said, staring into her luminous eyes with newfound awe. "I didn't know I did, either," she admitted.

Lydia looked back into his eyes, her own wide and illuminating wonder and intrigue. The wind was picking up pace, making the candlelight enwreathing the beach cabana flicker frantically, like the flames were afraid they'd burn out. Stiles could still hear someone strumming a guitar gently. It was beautiful, how the beach was bathed in moonlight, the way Lydia looked to him like something familiar and intense and magnificent, like a girl from a storybook, or a girl who the world wrote ballads about, or a girl who ruled nations - how it still smelt lightly like cigarettes and vanilla, how every second seemed to be passing by slower than the last, how he wanted to freeze time there forever and ever.

Lydia smiled warmly at him, taking his frosty hands in her warm ones, and he didn't dare think he was dreaming this time. The bonfire by their side was beginning to die, but there was still warmth in the air. Stiles rubbed his left palm against her right one, to generate heat, he closed his eyes for a moment and tried to immortalize the feeling.  
xxxxx

Lydia

She remembered so much all of a sudden. Like flashbacks and dreams and déjà-vu, it was all coming back to her.

 _A nine-year-old Lydia was having a bad day. She was the kid who always tripped over her ballerina shoes. The weird kid whose parents were always fighting. The mean girls were picking on her, they stole her tray. She remembered sitting in the cafeteria all alone, sobbing softly to herself when a boy with hair like dark chocolate and skin like milk plopped down next to her and offered her his food and a juice box. She remembered thanking him and then politely asking him to leave, never meeting his eyes._

 _They went to the same party in the eighth grade, he spent most of his time with the same boy he went everywhere with, playing a drum solo in front of everybody, laughing between breaks, she remembered noticing the subtle tremble in his fingers as he held the drum sticks that blasted rhythms of pop rock songs, he still wasn't sure of his abilities then._

 _Lydia was a completely new and improved version of herself, holding her head up like she never lost a war. She was dancing with her popular jock boyfriend at the spring fling, emerald envy burned in the hearts of on looking girls, Lydia was the princess in the prettiest gown at the ball. It smelt like spiked punch and blueberries, Jackson's cologne smelt like spices. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear and she felt the boy's gaze like a shadow across her back. He stood in the corner of the room, watching her with eyes that flashed like runway lights, while a girl in a blue dress talked his ear off._

"Lydia. You still on planet earth?" Stiles asked, his face inches from hers, eyes blinking in confusion. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. I go away sometimes," she confessed. Stiles smiled softly like he understood, like he went away sometimes too.

"Listen. Do you wanna go take a dip? Uh... Not a skinny dip, like, with clothes on. Not completely on - not that that's a problem, if you uh - want them on... Jesus, where am I going with this?"

She brightened up instantly, glancing over at the daunting waves their friends were soaking themselves in. It did look slightly dangerous... and cold, very, freaking _cold_ \- but living life on the edge was something she'd always wanted to do; even if she'd never really gotten the nerve to do it. Lydia's hopeless romantic mind was already replaying scenes from The Vow in her head. Flashes of Channing Tatum and Rachel McAdams skinny dipping at night.

Lydia nodded, running the tip of her tongue over her lower lip flirtatiously. "Why should they get to have all the fun?" Stiles' eyes almost popped out of his head. "Is that a yes?"

"Have you heard the song Weightless by All Time Low?" Lydia asked, tilting her head. "It's only my favorite ATL song, ever," Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Let's go be weightless." Lydia flashed him an infectious grin, one he couldn't deny and shot off the ground, brushing sand off her legs even though some of it was still sticking to her calves and feet. Lydia offered him her hand and he took it. Everytime they held hands there was electricity crackling in her bones, giving her heart some major shock therapy.

He slid his fingers into the spaces between hers and they jogged towards the black ocean, giggling like a couple of kids in love the whole way.


	14. Inside Us: Only Stars

**A/N: I just wanted to let you guys know that from here on out the chapters are going to get shorter, but it's okay because that means my updates will be faster. P.S THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR A 100 FOLLOWS IT MEANS A LOT TO MEH I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU PUMPKINS AND A DOUBLE THANKS TO THE PEOPLE WHO REVIEW IT'S REFRESHING TO HEAR WHAT YOU ALL HAVE TO SAY.**

 **Anyway... Happy Reading!**

* * *

 _There in the dark, down in the valley,_  
 _under the motel neon sign,_  
 _Room 105, the back of the alley,_  
 _you're wearing my coat while sleeping,_  
 _it feels like I've come home._

* * *

xxxxx

Lydia

All she could think as she entered the water was _I'm gonna get hypothermia. I'm gonna get hypothermia and die.  
_  
And then... _Cold, cold, cold...  
_  
The wind seemed to be throwing frosted darts at every patch of exposed skin on her body, which sucked because she'd pulled off her dress so she was in her bra and Allison's denim shorts (because she refused to go swimming in her underwear). Stiles didn't want to take off his khakis, even though they would get drenched completely. "You'll be picking seaweed out of those pants for days to come," Stiles shrugged. "At least it'll wash out the sand."

"Yeah, temporarily," Lydia muttered. It was just an excuse for him to keep his pants on, Lydia had no problem with him keeping his pants on - in fact, she kind of wanted him to keep his pants on. They weren't ready to get naked in front of each other.

Not because they were uncomfortable, but because they wouldn't be able to contain themselves and in no time, Lydia would be pinning herself on him and things would go south.

It was definitely not the time to play pin the Lydia on the Stiles.

So pants on was definitely a good idea, mostly because it would keep her inner Lusty Lydia in check.

Stiles waded past her until the water was all the way up to his navel. Lydia was shivering in the shallows, only ankle-deep in the water. Maybe being weightless was being stupid. Stiles laughed and outstretched an arm. "Just leap in, Lyd. You won't feel the cold once you're in. You'll get sicker if you stay in that position," he insisted.

Lydia knew that, she knew it. "I know how science works!" she cried grouchily, but still couldn't get herself to leap in. Life really wasn't a movie. Stiles rolled his eyes and the next thing she knew there were strong arms like summer vines clasped around her middle and he yanked her headfirst into the arctic waters.

Stiles laughed as she came up for air, spewing saltwater everywhere and smacking at him with her small hands. "Asshole!" she exclaimed, still smacking at him even though she knew it didn't hurt him. "I was helping you. I bet you don't even feel the cold now," he muttered. It was true, she didn't feel like she was going to turn into a popsicle anymore. "Whatever," she groaned in defeat, splashing at him. Stiles tried to call out to Allison and Scott, but they were out of earshot and in the middle of an intense make-out session by the looks of it.

"Let's keep our distance from our porn star friends, okay?" Stiles said.

Lydia laughed, grinning wildly as she splashed more water at him. "Okay."

It was an insane feeling; a complete rush. Watching the moon shimmer like a spotlight in the sky, tasting the saltwater on her tongue, breathing the fresh air, feeling invincible for a split-second. Lydia attempted to do the backstroke but Stiles snuck up behind her and wrapped his arms around her stomach, his own torso flat against her spine. He kissed her hair and she shivered.

"Let's not... do _that_ ," she decided, twirling around to look at him. "You know," Stiles mumbled, his voice suddenly very gravelly as his sunshine eyes met her gaze. "You're not allowed to call the shots all the time."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?" she couldn't help it, she felt challenged. She ran a pink fingernail up and down his torso, tracing patterns of flowers across his chest. Stiles sucked in a breath, momentarily speechless - until he turned it around on her. He caught her wrist gently as she was trailing up again, a predatory gaze cementing his features. Lydia took a shaky breath of her own as he leaned in to kiss her neck, while simultaneously cupping one of her breasts.

Lydia almost let out a helpless groan.

 _Good lord_. "That's not... That's not fair," she rasped as he pressed his lips against her chin and then her lower lip. That was it - there was no help for it - he touched her and she was aware of it. _Aware of him._ It was as though tiny bits of iron were embedded in her skin and they were magnetized by his touch, swiveling to his every move. By the time his lips met hers, she felt like her whole body was dancing with lightning sparks, and she was almost glad there wasn't a wall or any other vertical surface around, or she would've had him pinned to it, climbing him like she was climbing a tree.

When they broke apart to breathe, a rough wave hit out of nowhere, tumbling at them in such speed she had to think quick; hold her breath and dunk herself underwater. When she came up again, she was coughing, having water stuck in her lungs wasn't a pleasant feeling. Still, her eyes searched for Stiles, and when she met his eyes it was like seeing a light house, it was like he was there to guide her lost ship off the sea. There was alarm in his own honey colored eyes, he swam over to her and draped an arm around her neck, all playful lusty notions crashing ashore with the wave. "You okay?" he asked as she continued to splutter, throat burning.

She could only nod, not speak. He led her to shore and she groaned, flipping onto her knees and coughing into the sand as Stiles patted her back. When she finally felt like she could breathe without gagging or gasping, she took deep breaths, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at the widespread ocean, abusing it in her mind.

"I still feel like I can't breathe properly," she muttered hoarsely, her heart speeding up from the rush.

"Lyd? Can I try something?" he asked calmly. She nodded, barely aware of her own surroundings since she'd been so overwhelmed. When she looked down again their hands were entwined, and she felt his winter coat across her shoulders, it hugged her like a security blanket. "Do you trust me?" his eyes burned gold. "Always have," she whispered genuinely, her throat throbbing.

Stiles leaned in and slammed his mouth over hers. Lydia thought kissing probably wasn't the most logical thing to do after coughing up half of the Atlantic ocean, but her mouth opened automatically underneath his onslaught, and she shuddered once more when his tongue dipped inside to taste hers. He was kissing her like his life depended on it. He wasn't warm, but he was warmer than her wet clothes, and she suddenly wanted to slip out of them (bra and all) and burrow into his arms.

She pulled back for air, and Stiles' hand caught in the hair at the nape of her neck. His eyes were suddenly dark and intense. "Still trust me?"

"Yes," the conviction in her voice surprised them both.

Lydia wondered that whatever he wanted to show her involved tongue. Not that she minded.

Lydia ran her hands over his torso as he kissed her and then he didn't. Just as she was about to break their kiss so she could breathe, he clamped his hand around the back of her neck to hold her in place. His head tilted to the side; his mouth opened wider over hers. She felt him inhale, felt his chest rise under her palms, and then he _breathed_ into her mouth.

He wasn't... _Oh_. It was the strangest feeling ever, and her eyes opened wide, just to make sure her brain wasn't deceiving her.

For a second, she fought the sensation. Only, she really kinda did need air. In the end, however, it was curiosity that made her relax, made her stop fighting against him. He inhaled again, and breathed again, and filled her lungs. For a second or two, she simply sat there in his lap and let him breathe for her.

She felt, for a moment, that they were one being that moved together and breathed together. When he finally pulled away, he looked almost as overwhelmed as she did. It took a couple of breaths for her to actually remember how to work her lungs on her own. "What was that?" she asked, when she finally mustered the courage to speak.

"This CPR technique I learned," he confessed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"That's not exactly how people give CPR..."

"It's not," he agreed.

xxxxx

Allison and Scott decided they should book rooms at the nearest dingy motel rather than drive for the rest of the night and Lydia decided she wanted to get drunk.

It was about 1.30 am when they made it to the motel, which was conveniently cheap and set up in a location ideal for serial killers and supernatural creatures alike. So basically just like any motel, ever. Lydia scrunched up her nose as Scott and Allison booked the rooms. "This place is a dump," she whispered to Stiles. "It also smells like urine and rat poison," she added irritably.

"Really? I couldn't tell with the heavy whiff of junk food and motorcycle gas hanging in the air." Stiles muttered. Allison turned around and grinned, jiggling silver keys in her hands. "Here you go," she tossed them at Stiles, who fumbled to catch it. "We'll see you love birds in the morning,"

Lydia felt all the blood rush out of her cheeks. "We're sharing rooms?"

"Are most of the rooms booked?" Stiles asked.

"No," Allison shrugged. "The motel's mostly empty, actually," Scott nodded. "But we saw the two of you at the beach today, and we dealt with your angst in the car. Trust us, you kids _want_ to share a room. You can thank us later. Night-night." Scott flashed them a white-teethed grin and swirled around, walking away with Allison in toe.

"Do you mind?" Stiles questioned nervously. "We can still -"

"No," Lydia mustered, almost inaudibly.

Stiles frowned. "No as in you don't mind or no as in you do?"

"I don't mind. I don't think I can sleep alone in this freaky place anyway."

"I'm so glad you said that." Stiles muttered honestly.

 _Touché,_ Lydia thought.

They unloaded half the vending machine and bought a bottle of every kind of liquor the little motel store had to offer before heading up the wooden stairs that lead to the first floor. The moon still hung high and proud up in the night sky, bracelets of stars hid behind frail clouds. The air was crisp and windy, but warmer than the beach. Crickets chirped in the bushes, an owl hooted from some tree, the hymn of distant traffic was lulling. She would've thought the atmosphere was quite nice if not for the creepy motel and it's selective range of odors. Lydia found herself eyeing the motel neon sign curiously, Motel Nirvana it read in blinding blood red, though the V had lost its light.

"Maybe the interiors are better than the exteriors," Stiles said with a sigh as he jabbed the key into the key hole. "All that counts is what's on the inside, right?"

"You sound like my preschool teacher," Lydia pointed out. Stiles laughed nervously. "I'm just trying to be optimistic," he explained. "Why?" she asked. "Because so far? This day has been pretty damn awesome," he admitted. "Why?" she echoed. Stiles halted fiddling with the key to look at her briefly, those liquid gold eyes skirting her from top to bottom. "You _know_ why,"

"I do, I just like hearing it." She confessed.

"Because of you," he muttered softly, and then flung the door open. Lydia smiled, satisfied with his answer as they stepped into Room 105, which was surprisingly immaculate, and looked rather cozy. There was a large cream-colored bed in the middle of the room, across from it a door that lead to the bathroom. There was a cupboard towards the right and a small window on the left. The walls were made of charred wood; a certain burnt umber - like Stiles' eyes in the right light. Above the bed's headboard was the strangest painting of Hitler she'd ever seen. He stood in his trademark pose, with his arms crossed over his chest, but he wasn't painted right - the artist had got the man's hair color, eye color and location completely wrong.

"Why on earth would a motel in the middle of nowhere have a painting of Hitler hanging on one of its walls?" Stiles wondered out loud. "I guess there's some questions we'll never get the answers to," Lydia mused as she shut the door behind them with a shrug.

Stiles kicked his converse off and leapt onto the bed, making it squeak in anguish due to impact. He patted the empty space besides him. "Come here," he mused, a lazy smile spilling across his features. Lydia smirked at him. "You can't order a lady to come to bed," she cooed skittishly, mascara painted eyelashes fluttering. "Can I implore a lady to come to bed?"

"Perhaps - but I need to wash off. We've been in your junk jeep for an entire day, I'm beginning to smell like pine cone car freshener. I'll see you afterwards." Lydia said. "Oh, and Stiles? No peeking," she purred flirtatiously before spilling into the bathroom.

She could practically see the absolutely floored look on the poor boy's face as she shut the bathroom door behind her.

xxxxx

Stiles

When he finished changing into a fresh t-shirt and ran his hands through his hair, he heard the bathroom door creak open and the girl that greeted him was wearing nothing but a towel and his heart almost shot out of his chest sans his mouth.

Lydia Martin. The girl of his dreams. The sunshine girl he'd been crazily in love with since the third grade was standing right in front of him.

In. Nothing. But. A. Towel.

Stiles pressed his lips so tightly together he wondered if it would leave a mark. The girl had her red velvet hair up in a loose bun, droplets of sparkling water still sprinkled the skin on her collarbone and shoulders, there wasn't a trace of make-up on her pearly face reminding him of how naturally gorgeous she was, she wore the white towel around her middle like a short dress that exposed a whole lot more of her surprisingly long legs than he'd have imagined. She grinned cockily in his direction and strolled right towards him, close enough so he caught a scent of the warm vanilla sugar shower gel she'd used, and then right past him towards her bag. "I forgot to take my clothes," she muttered, and Stiles evaded his gaze, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think of his Grandma or Game of Thrones or The Green Goblin, anything to keep his train of thought from reminding him that Lydia was practically naked.

She. Was. So. Beautiful. It. Was. Unfair.

Your Grandma. Your Grandma naked.

 _Yack. Yuck. Yuck. Gross._

Err...

"Stiles?" Lydia beckoned, compelling him to open his eyes; which involuntarily skirted her enticing figure. "You okay? You look like you're going to have a panic attack."

He faked a cheerful smile. "Me? I'm goood, goood. _Great._ You - do your thing," he fumbled idiotically. Her luminous green eyes shined playfully. She took a few steps towards him and leaned in dangerously close, now he could smell her coconut shampoo. "Don't get too excited," her gaze dropped somewhere beneath his waistline. Stiles felt his cheeks sizzle and his heart skip several beats. Embarrassment running rampant across his features. Lydia shot him a light smile and giggled, racing back into the bathroom and taking his dignity with her.

"Damn," he muttered to himself. "I feel like I'm trapped in a torture chamber."

xxxxx

He was waiting for her eyes to get glassy as she took another swig of rum mixed with Cherry Coke. She passed it to him and he couldn't help but notice the lipstick imprint left on the mouth of the bottle, like a promise of a kiss.

"Rum and coke," Stiles muttered distastefully. "My least favorite alcohol concoction."

"Don't be a baby, just take a sip. Or well... We bought a bunch of other drinks, remember? You're welcome to sip on vodka or whiskey," she mumbled. "Yeah, well. I don't know about you, but I'd like to not throw up by the end of the night." Stiles grumbled. He was proud of his no-throw-up streak, which was seven years. He hadn't thrown up in seven years. He didn't want to break that streak now.

They were sitting in a mess of mattresses, comforters and cushions on the floor rather than on the big, uncomfortable bed that lounged above them. Outside, the weather had changed its mind and a storm held the sky hostage, making the stars and moon retreat to make way for monstrous clouds and pelting rain. The weather on Stiles' iPhone predicted a hailstorm, and they could hear the ice crystals and raindrops knocking at the motel's fragile glass windows. Due to the newborn storm, the electricity had been cut off, and they had to go downstairs and get a bunch of wax candles to keep from night blindness.

Lydia was dressed in a dangerously low-cut indigo tank-top that seemed tailored to make him uncomfortable, and a pair of short polka-dotted pajama shorts. Her hair was let down to dry in a cluster of damp curls. This made Stiles glad the lights were messing with his vision. The relief had been short lived when he realized she looked even better in the glow of firelight. It made it seem like there were specs of gold in her otherwise green rainforest eyes. It made her hair shine too, and her face was just brighter, like there was sunlight in her veins.

"Boo hoo," she mumbled petulantly at Stiles' response. Lydia still wasn't drunk though, Stiles knew exactly what a sloshed Lydia looked like, and this wasn't it. "You remember the night you fought with Jackson? You probably don't, you were wasted out of your mind." Stiles said.

Lydia made a face. "Which time? Be more specific,"

It was kind of sad, Lydia's history with the guy. They used to fight continuously, and she'd always been so unhappy in the relationship - even though she'd given her heart and soul to Jackson. Stiles thought that years from now, if he ever happened to bump into Jackson down the road in a stranger city somewhere, he would punch the guy in the face. Repeatedly. Just for the hell of it.

"I don't remember the exact day, but I remember Christmas was right around the corner. The street was lit up with fairy lights. You were clad in this pretty blue dress that made you look like the angel at the top of the tree. You were wandering around Jackson's neighborhood barefoot in the snow, you didn't even have a jacket on. You weren't cold though, the alcohol had warmed your system. I remember driving by while running an errand for dad, and I saw you there. I freaked out. I parked my jeep and rushed over to you, repeatedly asking if you were alright. You just laughed and then you burst into tears. I didn't know what to do, but your skin was so ice cold. Your eyes were red stars. I held you for a minute, and then I lead you to my jeep. I called your mother and dropped you home that night."

Lydia blinked, eyes wide and full of surprise. "Are you making this up?"

"Do I sound like I'm making it up?" he arched an eyebrow. "No," she sighed. "I thought I was in love," she divulged. Stiles nodded because he knew. He didn't mention how he recalled her quoting, "I try so hard and he's never satisfied. I feel like trash when I'm with him." He recalled contemplating marching over to Jackson's house and giving him a piece of his mind. He recalled being unable to comprehend how someone could treat someone like her so horribly.

It thundered outside their window and they huddled closer together. The twin flames of the candles in front of them shivered slightly like they were afraid of the reverberation. The warmth of her was much nicer than the warmth of the fire. Lydia gulped down more of the drink and Stiles grabbed the bottle of Whiskey on his right. "I used to hate storms when I was a little girl. It was like the sky was angry at me or something," she laughed, her voice like windchimes. "Now I just think there's something beautiful about stormy weather. Even the skies need to scream sometimes."

"That's beautiful," Stiles responded, his words slightly slurring as he took another swing. " _You're_ beautiful." He added.

Lydia disregarded his compliment. "But I miss the stars," she muttered softly. "I grew up in love with the stars. It's why I was so keen on becoming an astronaut as a girl," she went on.

"Maybe that's because there are stars inside of you," he responded dreamily. Lydia chuckled at his flowery statement.

"Maybe there are stars inside us all." she responded.

"Yours are brighter than mine," he said.

Lydia's smile turned sad, "Stiles," she whispered softly. "Hypothetically, if we were to get together ever. You would hold on to me, right? You would never leave?"

"Nope. Never. You'd be stuck with me. We'd be like Siamese twins."

Lydia repressed a laugh. "Too far?" he asked. "A teensy bit, yeah," she chuckled.

"So... We're getting together?"

"I said hypothetically,"

"I thought we decided we wouldn't deny our feelings."

"And I'm not. I like you. You like me. I'm surprised the world hasn't imploded yet."

"Why are you so afraid to embrace this?"

"Stiiless," she sang his name again, totally evading his question. "What?" Lydia grinned. "What does your Whiskey taste like?" she asked. "Ass-paste," he confirmed. "Great. Let's chug it down as fast as we can until we get woozy and forget how to spell the word 'intelligent',"

"Okay." He agreed, because it was a swell idea.

* * *

 **Important: That little snippet at the beginning when he breathes into her is not my original idea. I read it a long time ago in a Spuffy fanfic and implemented it into my story. I do not take any credits for the idea.**

 **Hey. You. Yes, you. Like my story? Don't hesitate to drop me a nice review. Buh-bye. My parting wish for you is that you receive all the Dylan-gasms in the world. ;)**


	15. Painting Flowers

**A/N: Yeah... I got nothing.**

* * *

 _Now we're lost somewhere in outer space,_  
 _in a hotel room where demons play,_  
 _they run around beneath our feet,_  
 _we roll around beneath these sheets._

* * *

Lydia

"Am I hiigh?" Stiles asked, chuckling at absolutely nothing with his head in her lap.

" _Sooo_ high," she slurred, laughing too. "Like, you're lounging in outer space," she giggled some more. The entire room spun, she was quite drunk, but still somehow in her senses. She'd stopped drinking when she thought she was exceeding her limits because she wanted to remember this night forever - however long that was. He suddenly shot up and dusted his pants off, dancing about lamely, almost knocking down a cupboard. "You're going to fall and break your head," she muttered. "Then I guess you'll just have to dance with me to keep me steady," he offered her his palm. She hesitated for perhaps a second before taking it. They swirled around in the candlelit darkness, chuckling and not caring for once - about anything.

They weren't really dancing, they were mostly just stumbling about with their hands clasped together like overexcited children tripping on a sugar rush. Stiles could barely navigate in darkened atmosphere to be able to move his feet without falling, but his hands were so warm and nice. They were bigger than hers, calloused in places yet soft around the edges somehow. He had wonderful hands, and the fingers of a pianist. Lydia wasn't sure she could ignore the electricity sizzling between them for much longer. He twirled her around but her foot got caught under his and they fell to a heap on the ground, still laughing.

Stiles stopped laughing when he met her eyes, his own were sending shock waves down her spine. He pulled her closed by the legs and she leaned in towards him. "Sometimes I love you," he mumbled, extremely carefully and steadily for someone seemingly drunk off his ass. "Other times I just want to eat you alive."

She wondered if the ground shook at his words or if it was just in her head. He offered her the gentlest smile, his knuckles brushing against her cheek, making fireworks erupt in her gut. God. He smelt like spearmint and whiskey breath, those eyes were a swimming pool of colors in the flame light, ones that revealed her reflection in them.

She opened her mouth to respond, perhaps something sarcastic or witty, but her words got swallowed by a sudden kiss that threatened to have her heart explode in her ribcage. Her eyes flew shut automatically and she lost herself for a few breathless seconds, in the feel of his lips like the petals of a rose burning hot against her own, like two pairs of lips fighting for domination. Stiles didn't wrap his arms around her this time. She didn't dip her hands in his hair. They simply kissed with no body part except for their mouths and legs touching. Stiles tasted like whiskey and mints, with that slight hint of salt-water taffy she loved so much.

She always said to herself that there was nothing, but there was. That's when she knew she couldn't give him up.

Stiles

He hadn't been thinking. Or he'd been thinking too much.

God. It had been intense. In that moment, he'd known he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. And laughing there in a mess of alcohol stained sheets and tangled limbs and fussy hair, in a cheap motel room with the candlelight their only companion, simmering around them with the light of a dozen small sunsets, with the wind and the rain waging wars outside their window and the thunder's electric base and this beautiful, strange, puzzle of a girl shimmering in the midst of all of that, with alcohol blushing her cheeks, he thought he should tell her how much he loved her, he thought he should just go for it.

He convinced himself that she felt it too, how alive she was drenched in golden shadows, how electrifying her smile was everytime she laughed at something that was hardly funny, how the heat was igniting their souls. In that moment he didn't care about being Spiderman or about all the horrors tomorrow might have in store for them or about Malia or Jackson or anyone.

All he cared was that he was drunk on love, on life, on youth, and the scent of her perfume. He was drunk on the paved roads, the crappy motel liquor, and on the sight of her lips. So when he literally thought he wouldn't be able to take it anymore, when it was obvious that she felt the same way, that no way could a girl look so intensely into his eyes and tell him that she was proud of him if she wasn't in love with him. That was when he went for it.

Lydia

She pulled away first, eyes large and wild and skirting him.

Her mind was aflame, a dozen thoughts running at freight train speeds. She wanted to do more than just kiss. She wanted to tug that pesky t-shirt off his head and kiss his chest, she wanted to hold him to her, she wanted... she wanted everything.  
 _  
I'm in love. I'm in love. With. Stiles._

I'm in love with Stiles.

The thought was just a simple fact, something that didn't take her by surprise anymore. It was just as obvious as breathing air or going to sleep at night. "Stiles," she gasped, her eyes on fire. "Yeah?" he managed, his cheeks painted the color of wine. "I want to remember tonight," she began uncertainly. "I want tonight to last for as long as we can make it last."

"Okay...?"

He wasn't getting the message.

"Let's go off the rails, do something stupid we'll regret in the morning," she mumbled as nonchalantly as she could. "If you're hinting at what I think you're hinting at, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to regret it for the span of my lifetime," he replied earnestly, biting his lower lip and fidgeting with his fingers once more; anxiously. "But - I also don't want _you_ to regret it."

"I was lying, I lie sometimes."

"Huh?"

"I don't think... Look, I don't want to dwell on tomorrows but if you insist - I don't think I'm going to regret it either. Just, you know, for the record." She blabbed. Stiles' eyes widened. "Oh.. Uh, Okay. But uhm... I want to be romantic. We should take it slow, do it right. You know?"

He looked so nervous. It was fucking adorable.

It was _sexy._

"Yeah," she attacked him. " _Definitely._ "

She mumbled before her lips collapsed into his. He kissed her despite what he said, his lips were warm and he tasted like life. When she opened her eyes, just for a second, she noticed the way his eyes were pressed tightly shut as he leaned into her with everything he had, and when they pulled apart, only for another moment, he looked like he'd just woke up from an amazing dream, as his eyes fluttered open and he licked his swollen lips.

Their lips met again and soon enough Lydia was tugging furiously at the hem of his t-shirt. He helped her get him out of it. They were fast, feverish, intense. This was what passion felt like. Lydia couldn't believe she'd been missing out all this time. She'd had sex before, with others, with Jackson, but she had a feeling sex with Stiles was going to be transcending.

She ran her hands down his torso, feeling every abdominal compartment, he managed to stay steady underneath her touch. Lydia's hand fell from his navel to his waistline and they were engulfed again. She pulled her own tank top over her head and tossed it somewhere, not even bothering to check where it landed. Soon, he had her pinned to the floor with his chest pressed tightly against her own, zero layers of clothes between them. She could feel his breath against her bare skin, it was sending her mind into a frenzy. He wrapped his palms around her wrists and held them there as he simultaneously kissed her chest and continued the descent from there. Lydia shuddered when his fingers traced lazy circles against the inside of her thigh. This was a feeling she would never forget. With Stiles, everything was just so wild and full of fervor and unimaginable - like she never knew what was going to happen next, whether they'd be in paradise or in the darkest pits of hell. Who cared as long as they were by each other's sides?

Stiles often kissed like it was the end of the world, Lydia kissed like it was the start of time.

And when they hit impact, both of their eyes were wide like they were in a crime scene.

Stiles was a cyclone, surprising her, surrounding her, blowing her away then stealing the breath from her lungs so that she was uttering his name in gasps. Lydia waited her turn and when it finally rolled around, she brought a summer storm of her own. Always doing the unexpected, leaving marks on his skin like scorches and kisses like firefly wings against fluttering eyelashes.

When they were done, they hadn't had enough of each other, so they begun their dance again. It was going to be a long night. Not that Lydia minded. Like, at all.

xxxxx

He was a vision in his sleep. His lips slightly parted, embraced by the morning light.

Everytime she was absolutely confident he was dead asleep, she took her head off his chest and looked at him, before slowly pressing a kiss underneath his jaw, running her fingers over his sideburns, that's when she noticed he was beautiful.

The dip of his collarbone, the beauty marks splashing his right cheek, the warm sugar of his kiss, the chocolaty goodness of his hair. The smell of him. She wanted to paint flowers on his body, immortalize the romance and magic and aliveness of the night. Lydia was so far down the rabbit hole she'd flown right past Wonderland and tumbled all the way down under. Lydia was head over heels. She was drowning but she was liking it.

Lydia dropped her head back onto his chest and squeezed her eyes shut, playing the magical night back in her head on repeat. Flashes of caramel eyes, liquorice tongue, drunken kisses and a hailstorm. She imagined herself forty years from now, telling this story to her grandkids - being one of those overly inappropriate grandmothers who always went on about the adventures they had in their youth. Lydia didn't blame those ladies. She understood them. She'd had quite a youth of her own; and she never wanted to forget the highlights of it.

She never wanted to forget him.

Or this night.

She would carry it with her for as long as she lived. She didn't regret it. She'd known she wouldn't, but she still managed to take herself by surprise. Stiles stirred in his sleep, but he didn't wake up. Lydia was content just listening to the sound of his heart beating; last night, his heartbeat had seemed to reverberate louder than the thunderstorm outside. She fell asleep to the sound of it.

She woke again to the feel of his lips pressed against her temple. "Morning sweetheart,"

"Sweetheart?"

"Don't like it? Okay. How about baby?"

"Too cheesy."

"Okay my honeybooboomcutiekins,"

She tossed a pillow at him and he laughed. "How about babe?"

"Better," she grinned. "So... You don't regret it, do you?" he asked, the fear in his irises discernible. "Not one bit." She confirmed. It seemed like an invisible weight had been lifted off his shoulders, he broke into a lazy, entranced smile and leaned in to kiss her once more. She clasped her palm to his mouth, blocking his move. "I have morning breath," she warned.

"I don't care," he mumbled petulantly, peeling off her hand and whisking her into a dizzying kiss. When he eventually let go, he was still gazing into her eyes like he was looking for rhinestones in them. Lydia smiled consciously. "Stop doing that,"

"What?" he tucked an arm behind his head lazily. " _Staring_ at me,"

"Not staring. Wondering."

"Wondering what?"

"How the hell did you ever pick me?"

"You kind of picked me, actually, and I just happened to... _like_ it," she rationalized.

Stiles laughed lightly. She honestly hadn't seen him look so earnestly content in a long time. Too bad the sun had come up. It had to eventually. Right on cue, as if to remind her that the spell had broken, Stiles' phone jarred them out of their trance - ringing loudly.

He rolled his eyes, groaned petulantly once more and then rolled over to answer it. "Scott," he gritted his teeth. "Ever the cockblocker."

Lydia punched him lightly in the shoulder as he answered the call. "Hey," he muttered. "Okay. We'll be there in twenty. Shut up. No. Later. Yeah. Okay. Bye. Fuck you."

Lydia arched an eyebrow. "Guy stuff," he shrugged in a manner of explanation.

"They told us check out's at one-thirty so we're going to go get brunch at the breakfast place down the road. You want to take a shower first or do I go?"

"We could just go together."

Stiles' jaw dropped and Lydia tried to suppress the sleazy grin that creeped up her face. "Oh."

Lydia hopped off the bed and Stiles stumbled on after.

xxxxx

Stiles

"What is _up_ with you two?" Scott asked cheekily, even though he had that tone that told him he knew the answer to his question. "Lyd, I've never seen you smile for longer than five seconds unless it's one of your sarcastic, rude smiles and Stiles, bro, your skin's totally glowing,"

Allison giggled. "Yeah. What were you guys up to last night?"

"We played Monopoly and ate a lot of ice cream." Stiles deadpanned.

"What's that code for?" Allison wondered out loud. "Well... Monopoly could be code for sex, ice cream could be code for alcohol, but it could also -"

"Here's a philosophy, mind your own beeswax." Stiles snapped, cutting her off.  
They'd taken off after a satisfying brunch at Waffle Town (to be crowned the second best breakfast spot, after IHOP, of course according to his mental list of awesome breakfast places in the Tristate area), and were on the road again - this time, to head back to the city.

Stiles was glad to take the wheel again, he'd missed driving his baby down open roads. The storm from last night had completely cleared, not a trace of it in the cyan skies abovehead. The sun shimmered into his eyes and he had to squint to keep track of the road. Lydia sat next to him, constantly switching stations on the radio. "Babe," he said softly. "Promise me you'll never take up a career as a DJ," Lydia rolled her eyes. "I'm just in that mood where every song I listen to just isn't the right song - you know? By the way, I'd kill it as a DJ, I have exquisite musical taste," she responded crisply, carefully applying lipstick in the mirror, painting her lips a frosty pink. Those lips that had kissed him all over last night...

He blocked the thought. He didn't want to lose track of the wheel and get them into an accident, which was what would definitely happen if he thought about last night at all while driving. Maybe designated driver wasn't the best role for him to fulfill post-Lydia.

They still weren't anywhere close to the city. It would be another six hour drive from where they were now. Scott got angsty after a little while, constantly complaining about how being a werewolf should've earned him super speed. Stiles reminded him that he wasn't the Flash, even though wolves could obviously run faster than your average human, he wasn't going to be able to race to New York City on foot.

They ended up making a pit stop at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. Everybody was cranky, hungry, and Scott really needed to pee.

"Oh, Sweet Jesus we're finally here! Praise the lord! Praise the lord!" Scott yelped.

"Praise _me_ , actually," Stiles mumbled as they rolled to a stop. "Yes, yes. My bladder thanks you!" Scott hopped out of the jeep and raced past them, making a beeline for the bathroom. Allison and Lydia followed. Stiles had just finished parking the car and was making his way towards the convenience store when he felt like something was off.

The gas station was awfully silent. _Too_ silent. There were no other cars, or wanderers, no sign of any life at all. He could've been standing in the middle of a ghost town for all he knew. The convenience store had flashing neon lighting and a sign that read 'open', so perhaps he was just being paranoid.

No. His spidey sense was tingling. Something was indeed fishy.

He rushed in so fast his feet burned.

He pushed past the double doors and skidded to a stop, eyes darting everywhere. "Guys?" he called out. The clerk was missing from the help desk, there were no others customers and his friends were nowhere to be seen once they'd entered the convenience store.

Scott strolled out from the bathroom, relief washing over his face. "Dude," Stiles said carefully, hoping Scott would get the message by simply noticing his alert tone and gaze. "Where are the girls?" Scott shrugged, picking up on Stiles' vigilance; his eyes suddenly glowing a burning red.

"I can smell something off... "

Stiles nodded, eyes darting everywhere.

Then everything happened all at once and Stiles lost track of himself. They heard Lydia's scream. Stiles charged past Scott to go find her. Something leapt at Scott from the shadows. It made a faint, incessant hissing noise. There was a thumping sound, like a limp body hitting the ground. Everything was suddenly bathed in petrifying darkness. There was another scream, it could have been Scott's, it could have been his own. Then he saw red. The smell of blood like perfume. Piercing, void eyes. Maniacal laughter. Then his eyes began to burn like there was poisonous gas in the air. Finally, the unbearable pain seized him like he'd been hit by an avalanche. The metallic taste of his own blood filled his mouth and then it was over.

* * *

 **Like it? Please drop me a nice review. To answer a couple of questions: Not sure how long the story will be since I'm not finished writing it, hopefully only a few more chapters to go, and Spiderman WILL be coming back, obviously. Also, I apologize for the cliff hanger. I know. I stink, but I'm a slut for a good cliff hanger, and I bet you are too. ;)**


	16. Little Banshees Dream of Death

**A/N: I don't like this chapter... Ehrm. I probably shouldn't say that about my own story.**

 **P.S The beginning of this chapter is a dream, and it drops a lot of hints on what's to come - just in case you're absolutely confused, which you will be. Do drop a review about what you make of it, if you've got any predictions at all. Drop a review even if you don't. Just drop a review. Okay? Love ya! Enjoy.**

* * *

 _I'm running in circles, I'm losing it all,_  
 _from something to nothing, do the right thing, let me fall_  
 _you're pushing me sideways but you won't let go,_  
 _and I know you're sorry, but do the right thing,_  
 _cut the rope and let me fall._

* * *

xxxxx

Lydia

 _She was standing in a theme park. It was dark and dusty; so she couldn't see very clearly. Her surroundings flickered like someone was flipping a switch on and off. The theme park was full, packed with people in all kinds of costumes. A woman in an old-fashioned dress talked to a man in a wizard's cloak. A tall guy dressed like... a gorilla? was delivering drinks to a tiny old woman and a girl with eyes dark as storms._

 _Her friends were here, too. Scott McCall was the first person she recognized. He was dressed like a wolf, complete with the bared fangs and glittering eyes. He stood with his spine straight like a soldier. Next to him stood Allison, who was dressed in a white wedding dress. She was holding a red rose in her right hand and had a strange black mist surrounding her._

 _"What's going on?" Lydia asked. "Are we going somewhere?"_

 _"Maybe," Scott said. "I wouldn't know. I'm just along for the rides."_

 _"I think it depends on the ride," Allison said. "Which one are you getting on?"_

 _"I... don't know," Lydia replied. Something ahead of her caught her eye: a glimpse of familiar hazel eyes and dark chocolate hair. "I have to go," she told them. They didn't stop her as she walked past._

 _"Be safe!" Scott called. "Yes. It's an jagged road ahead. Don't stumble!" Allison agreed._

 _She pushed through the crowd. Danny from school, one of Lydia's close friends, stood a little further. A boy she'd seen before but couldn't recognize, with blond hair and glow-in-the-dark eyes stood to his left. Danny was dressed like a pirate, the boy was dressed just like Scott; like a wolf. "Hello, Lydia," Danny said. "I'm glad you've made it this far."_

 _Lydia frowned. "I've always been here."_

 _The wolf boy laughed. "She has so much to learn."_

 _She tried to look past them, in hopes of getting a better look at the tent behind them. "Do you want to stay back? You have the option, you know," Danny suggested. "Not right now, I've got to..." She looked around. People pressed on all sides, but ahead, disappearing into the tent, she caught a flash of the familiar brown hair again. She pushed on._

 _Malia Tate stopped her next. Malia was dressed like a wolf, too, but her eyes glowed a different color. There were black tears running down her cheeks. Malia looked at Lydia seriously. "Why are you still here? You don't have much time, Lydia. They'll seize him."_

 _"But it's too dangerous."_

 _"You can't be a flower girl forever. We all know you were destined for the moon," Malia points out. "He can see," Malia insists. "He will help you."_

 _She handed Lydia a scarlet string. Her surroundings flickered again, gleaming off soft brown hair and pale skin up ahead._

 _"I have to go," she told Malia._

 _Lydia followed her instinct and made it to the tent somehow. She took a few steps in. There was a long, narrow corridor stretching out in front of her; it looked endless. There were several mirrors to both her sides. In one mirror, she saw herself standing in a purple dress splashed with blood stains like paint splatters, her own mouth twisted in a horrified silent scream. In another, she was a little girl in ballet slippers, twirling around and around and tripping on her own feet because she wasn't meant to be a black swan. In the third mirror, she was a mess. Her hair was sticking up in every direction, her clothes were wrinkly and her mascara was smudged. This version of her was the saddest one of them all. People threw tomatoes at her - those who'd once screamed her name now whispered it. In the final mirror that she got a glimpse at, she was dressed as she was right now, and staring back at her own reflection._

 _She made it out of the tent somehow. The patch of ground ahead of her was full of dark creatures and things, somehow she knew they were all evil. They were a blur of kerosene eyes, animalistic roars, frantic feet and hollow bones. Lydia ran past them, running with the wolves that flanked her on each side protectively. She found her mother and father at the end of the line. Her mother was dressed all pretty like a porcelain doll, her father wore a tattered red cape, like a fallen superhero._

 _"We have been waiting for you," her mother said. Her father looked angry. Her mother just looked sad. "What took you so long?" her father demanded._

 _"She can't stay with us." Her mother's voice was gentle. "She's got places to be."_

 _Her dad huffed, his eyes red. "If she leaves us now, there's no turning back."_

 _"Where does this train lead? I don't know which ride I'm supposed to be on," Lydia explained, confused._

 _"It goes part of the way," her mother told her. "But we've switched paths."_

 _Lydia was not sure how she got there but she made it on a train. She made her way to the next car and a man with no face waited for her at the door. He held a small key._

 _"You made the right choice," the man mumbled._

 _She took the key from him, the door opened and she went through._

 _"See you later, Lydia," her mother's voice echoed in her head. The man without a face pulled something and their cars disconnected. The one with him, the demons and her family went rattling off into the darkness, along another track. She shut the door._

 _The car she was on now was full of dead people. She couldn't see any of their faces, but somehow, she knew they were all dead. They stood silently as she passed. All the figures around her were transparent. They seemed to be trying to communicate with her, but she couldn't comprehend what they were saying, and that made her want to scream. She thought... she thought she recognized one of the ghosts but it seemed to vanish as soon as she caught it's eye. The car dropped her off at a beach. The sun was setting in the distance._

 _Jackson stood in front of her. Jackson's face was painted to look like a sad clown, complete with a droopy red mouth and blue tears running down his ridged cheeks. The whole effect was pretty gruesome._

 _"It might have been different," he told her. "It just comes off so easily."_

 _Lydia bit her lip. "Where is he? Do you know where he is?"_

 _"Everywhere." Jackson responded despondently. "He's in your hair, your eyes, he's in every breath you take..."_

 _He didn't stop her when she walked past him, trying to locate the familiar... She saw him rounding a corner behind a palm tree. She followed._

 _Lydia left the beach behind and found Derek Hale next, he was dressed like a ninja in a fully black uniform complete with a nunchuck and tabi boots. His eyes weren't the wolf's usual gold, or a killer alpha's icy blue, or even the searing red. They were human eyes._

 _"They will come for everyone," he muttered sadly. "They are darker than wolves."_

 _"Why would you say that?" she asked._

 _Derek laughed harshly. "Because they want you to know."_

 _Lydia walked past Derek, still in a hurry. Finally, she found him. He was standing on the edge of the lane. There was a barbed wire fence behind him that read, 'Dead-End'. Stiles turned around._

 _"I was trying to catch up," she told him. Stiles was clad in red and blue. He had a transparent rope fastened tightly around his neck, and half of his face was shrouded in shadow so she could only see a single honey colored eye. "I know. I wish you didn't." He said._

 _Lydia stared at him. "Why not?" He pointed at something behind her. She turned around._

 _The moon was rising in the sky behind her, eclipsing the sun. Far, far ahead, a tall black building jutted up, standing out like granite. There was death and destruction in the lands beyond that. Millions of people battling the demons she'd witnessed earlier, everyone killing each other in a battle of swords and fangs. All her friends, her family, they were there too._

 _She could feel it._

 _She turned back to Stiles. He looked scary, paler than usual. There was blood. And then, his eyes turned into black holes. "They're coming," he said._

 _"Who's coming?" she asked._

 _Before he could answer that, she turned and what she saw made her -_

wake up with a gasp.

Lydia coughed blood, her vision still hazy as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

"Wakey, wakey, Miss Martin," an animated voice cooed, high enough to belong to a female. Lydia's eyes were still adjusting, but she could now see the outline of a figure standing right above her, with eyes the color of lightning clouds. "Did you enjoy the present I gave you?"

Lydia tried to move, but quickly realized her wrists were bound by fierce chains, and so were her ankles. Her back rested against cold wood. Her vision cleared. The girl in front of her had short, shabby grey hair that stuck up like static electricity and a black lipstick mouth curved into a sardonic smile.

Behind her stood a man, or at least she thought he was a man. He wore a bowtie and a suit like a proper gentleman, but he was bald and wore a strange dark hat on his head. His face was disfigured, so terribly mutated that she could not make out the difference between him and the characters from those strange Star Wars movies Stiles often raved on about to her until she watched them with him. His eyes were scarred beyond recognition, his mouth twisted upward like he'd gotten a face lift, there were countless scars across his cheekbones and jawline. It was heavily disturbing. Next to him stood the Whirlwind himself, in his midnight black hoodie.

Lydia couldn't exactly make out where they were. It looked like some sort of rusty factory. The ceilings were high and jagged, charcoal black and built to block the sunlight. It smelt like burnt rubber and oil and death. Lydia groaned, but it hurt to breathe, it even hurt to move or make a sound. When she looked down, she realized that she was bleeding out, there was a wet patch of blood on her side and it had completely stained her beige sweater. She felt like someone had stuck their hands inside her gut and was now poking around in it with a couple hundred swords. Her head throbbed too, and she could see a stream of red from the corner of her eyes.

Her first thought was Stiles. "Where is he? What did you do to him?" her voice didn't waver a single time. The girl in front of her grinned wildly. "He's right behind you, but I'm afraid he's too unconscious to hear you. I'm still giving him visions."

Lydia wanted to strain her neck to look, but it ached too much. "What about Allison? Scott?"

"The wolf and the huntress are being dealt with. Don't worry. They're not dead," she explained. "Yet." She added sharply. "And we intend to keep them that way, as long as you and your boyfriend cooperate," she explained.  
 _  
_The Whirlwind grabbed a chair and sat down in front of her, crossing his arms over his chest. He pulled the hoodie off his head. The Whirlwind didn't honestly look like much, just your average I'm-taking-too-many-steroids type, with a bulky frame and a goatee. His eyes were dark and he had a scar running across his neck. His spiky hair was trimmed in a crew cut and his muscled arms were stained with gruesome tattoo sleeves.

Lydia wanted to spit on his face.

"Do you know who I am, sweetheart?" The Whirlwind questioned, his voice disgusting; like nails across a chalkboard.

"No," she responded in sarcastic politeness. "But I know who _I_ am, and I'm certainly _not_ your sweetheart." She snapped.

The Whirlwind cackled. His voice even sounded unhealthy, hurtful to her eardrums. If the souls of the damned ever grouped up and composed a ballad - this was probably what it would sound like. "Feisty, are you?" he blabbed. "I appreciate feisty. Too bad you still might have to die,"

Lydia took a deep breath and let it out, even though the wound in her side burned and throbbed. She knew plenty of tricks to get out of situations such as these, she also knew that her injury was a knife wound and that she could survive it... If she made it to the hospital in time. She began working on her chains, twitching her fingers around to get a feel of them, figure out ways to let herself free without any of the bad guys noticing.

"I'm Leonard Morgenstern. I love sunsets, long walks on the beach and jazz music. Do you want to know what I hate? I hate New York City and I hate the people who try to protect the frail, imbecile studded population of it even more. When I first heard about Spiderman, of course, I was expecting more of a challenge than a moronic teenage boy - but this might be a good thing for you, I chose not to kill him on sight because of this."

Lydia bit her lip and managed to keep her expression absolutely nonchalant, even though she felt like throwing up and crying and breaking someone's head all at the same time.

"Get to a point," she commanded casually, like she wasn't totally freaked out of her mind.

Leonard Morgenstern laughed once again. "Don't bother trying to fool me with nonchalance. I've had my eye on you young lovers for quite some time now," he went on.

"Perv," she muttered.

"I think love's disgusting, of course, but I understand it. I, too, unfortunately was once a victim of the disease that is emotion. I'm cleansed now, obviously. Anyhow, I think your love for this boy is going to have to be put to the test, since his life literally is about to depend on it,"

"What?" Lydia croaked, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Christopher over here is a very angry fellow, and he's got some anger pent up for Spiderman. If I let him loose on the boy, he will beat the crap out of him. I... On the other hand, I believe in the magnificent impact of emotional torture."

Lydia gawked at the man, looking him squarely in the eye. "You repel me."

He ignored her jab, pretending like he hadn't even heard it.

"How far are you willing to go for the one you love, girlie?" The Whirlwind asked. "That's the true question."

Lydia hoped he didn't see her waver, that he didn't hear her heart skip several beats. Her stomach felt like it had been reduced to jello all of a sudden. Somehow, she kept her lips from quivering.

"What the hell are you saying?"

The man smiled. "Look. I'll play fair. I'll give you kids a chance, save you from a pitiful mercy killing - but you must cooperate with me as well. Christopher over here wants revenge for all the times your boyfriend has landed his mates in jail or worse. I must give him something to... ah, satisfy him; keep him from ripping you and your friends to shreds," Stern went on.

"He wants my head on a pike, he's welcome to freaking come and get it," Stiles spat smugly. It was so reassuring to hear his voice that her brain began functioning again, if he was sentient enough to think up snarky comebacks, he was going to be alright, he was going to be okay. It was strange and plenty ironic, Lydia thought, how Stiles had told her that he would go out of his mind if he lost her, while when she thought she'd lost him, she was on the verge of losing hers.

"Ah. Someone's woken from his slumber. Earlier than expected, too. I must admit, I'm impressed," Stern said, while simultaneously blowing Christopher back with the force of his gusts to keep him from lunging at Stiles. "Lydia. Lydia talk to me. Are you hurt? What did they do to you? I want details because I'm going to do the same things to them, only it's gonna hurt much, much more," Stiles snapped.

"I - I'm alright. Stiles. You're... You 're okay too?"

"I will be once I beat the shit out of these guys bothering you -"

"It's cute you think you can touch me, considering you and your friends are _our_ prisoners," Stern mocked. "Lydia, sweetheart. I will be knocking your beloved out in exactly a minute, but I want him to hear what I'm going to have you do to yourself first. If you want to keep Christopher from ending his miserable little life, exhausting him like flame, you have to take this knife," he twirled a sharp silver blade around in his left hand, grinning madly. "And cut yourself. As many times as I tell you to,"

"Why?" she managed weakly.

"Because emotional torture is the best kind of torture," he muttered smoothly.

"Lydia, look at me. Don't listen. Just focus on my voice. Block it out, okay?" she heard him call out to her, but she wasn't focusing on the sound of his voice, she was focusing on the very real threat to his life, and the sadistic creep towering above her with eyes that guaranteed he would do as he pleased. If she cooperated, they would have a chance, Stiles would. "Lydia?"

"Okay."

"LYDIA! NO -" Stern grinned and she heard Stiles' head thump against wood. She roared. "Don't _touch_ him!" Stern simply laughed and leaned over, cutting her loose with the blade. She didn't to try to wrestle them from him, his body weight, size, mass and powers all kept her from charging into a battle she knew she would lose.

Christopher pulled out a chair and the girl with the grey hair attempted to push her into it, her grip around her upper arms so tight she was sure it would leave marks.

 _Quick, Lydia. Think. Okay... She's obviously stronger than me, but she grabbed me from the back which means I have a shot._ Lydia's mind raged. Her heel was the strongest part of her foot, and she wearing six-inch stilettos. All she had to do was stomp on the top of the girl's foot with all her might. If she stomped hard enough, she was sure it would cause unimaginable pain and probably even break a few small bones in her feet thanks to the heels. The pain would cause her to release her. Lydia went for it, stomping her right foot into her attacker's as hard as she could. The girl yelped and doubled back in agony. " _OUCH!"_ she exclaimed, loud enough to impress Lydia's inner banshee.

Lydia's success was short-lived as Christopher and Stern grabbed her from either side and wrestled her into the chair. "That was so mean," the girl cried petulantly, tears stinging her eyes.

"Stern! This is unfair!"

"Quit whining. If you can be bested by a teenage girl in fancy shoes you obviously aren't worth my time," Stern snapped. The girl frowned, stomped over to Lydia and grabbed her chin so tight she thought she wouldn't be able to breathe.

"It... It was a moment of weakness. I can end her right here right now."

Even though there were no ropes keeping her from getting up and fleeing, the three of them loomed over her in a circle like vultures, keeping her glued to her seat. Stern was right, despite her knowledge on strategic fighting, Lydia wasn't really a fighter, now she wished she was.

 _Allison would be able to get out of this_. She thought about how her friend had been so brave and relentless when she'd been kidnapped by the twins. Lydia knew she couldn't even fight her way out of a paper bag, but she vowed to herself that if she got out alive, she would learn how to throw at least one punch, or a million.

The second the girl let go of her jaw, Stern leaned in and handed her the knife, his breath smelt like blood and tobacco. Disgusting.

"I'm curious," the girl snarled. "That boy is Spiderman, the other one's a werewolf and the female's a skilled archer. What does _she_ do again?" she chin-pointed to Lydia.

Christopher laughed a creepy Joker laugh, maniacally clapping his hands together like he was pumped. "This one _screams_ ," he grinned. "Ah. I always wanted to ask this question to a banshee," the girl came dangerously close to Lydia's face again, her bottomless eyes staring right into her own, her lips almost touching hers. "Can you predict your own death?" she sang, running a sharp fingernail down Lydia's already wounded chin. Lydia made a biting motion with her mouth, making the girl immediately withdraw.

"You're right. Very feisty, this one," she grinned, her accent slightly Romanian.

"Natalia," Stern warned. "Not yet."

The girl - Natalia, pouted. "But when can I play with her again?"

"How about you play with the boy for now?" Stern suggested.

She sighed. "Okay."

Stern turned around to grin fanatically at Lydia.

"Now," he muttered. "How deep will you dig the knife into your skin?"


	17. Everything Falls

**A/N: I am sorry this chapter's so short! I haven't finished writing this story entirely yet, which is why I'm updating quite slowly now. BUT PWEASE STICK WITH ME, I KNOW, I KNOW I SUCK BUT I'M TRYING TO WRITE AS FAST AS POSSIBLE I PROMISE.**

 **P.S I would like to apologize in advance for the unadulterated emotional pain this chapter may/may not cause you.**

 **Credits: This chapter contains dialogue adapted from Teen Wolf, Season 5, Episode 6, "Required Reading".**

* * *

 _Where've you gone?  
I turned around and now  
I'm alone  
Will I ever understand it?  
Will I make it to the other side?  
I almost died  
the day I lost you._

* * *

Stiles

 _He was standing inside a hospital. A very busy hospital. People whizzed past him in every direction, lightning blurs of beige and blue. The fluorescent lights abovehead seemed to constantly flicker, like they were in the midst of a storm. It reeked of blood and death. Stiles' felt dread creep up his back like the eight legs of a gigantic spider, spitting its venom all over him so he was clasped, trapped. His breathing was ragged, his eyesight weak, it seemed like he couldn't focus on anything at all._

 _His surroundings were either in fast-forward or slow-motion, disorienting him completely. That was until he spotted her. He would have felt her presence even if he'd been blind. There was something homely accumulating inside his chest whenever he laid eyes on her. Her brunette hair spilled past her shoulders in frizzy clusters, she was walking terribly fast, like she had a plane to catch or a meeting to attend. She strode right past him, barefeet and in a tattered hospital gown. He could smell the hint of her perfume, now ringed with the stench of blood and medicines. Stiles' tried to call out to her, but his lips wouldn't move. They were tight as bowstrings, frozen as if they'd been encrusted in a block of ice._

 _His feet worked. So he followed her. She strolled past long, endless corridors that seemed to mould into one another. The lights flickered more vehemently as he got closer to her. He tried calling out to her again and failed. She began to climb a series of swirling stairs, Stiles' was already getting breathless with every step, exhaustion swelling over him like the weight of a million monster trucks, impatience and anxiousness warred between his veins, causing him to grow weary of this goosechase. His stomach felt like a volcano about to erupt._

 _She finally came to a halt, and somehow, he'd made it all the way up without passing out. She stood on the roof of the hospital, Stiles wondered how she got access to it. He wondered how he got access. It didn't matter. She was standing atop a ledge._

 _Stiles' voice finally began to work. "Mom?" he squeaked. "Mom, what are you doing?"_

 _She couldn't hear him, though. She couldn't hear anything. "Claudia, what are you doing up there?" a familiar voice bellowed, Stiles' father rushed right past him, terror illuminating his irises and making the night air around them feel heavy and suffocating somehow. As if they were breathing toxic gas instead of oxygen._

 _I couldn't stand being in that room anymore. Not with him looking at me like that." Claudia said, terror in her own fragile voice. Stiles couldn't help but stand there, his whole body suddenly feeling useless, his heart threatening to give up on him._

 _"Claudia," John Stilinski called out to his wife. She wouldn't get off the ledge. "He's trying to hurt me. I don't care if you don't believe me, but he is. He's trying to kill me." She insisted. There was conviction in her enunciation, something that told him she would not be swayed otherwise, conviction pure and cold as winter snow_

 _. "No. That's not true," his father insisted, outstretching an arm for his wife to grab. "You have to remind yourself that it's a disease. Remember what the dementia does. It gives you delusions. It makes you think everything is out to get you." He explained, helping her down and wrapping her in his embrace, running his palms over the length of her shoulders soothingly while Stiles stared on, like a ghost._

 _"You don't see the way he looks at me." There was so much fear in her voice, so much anger. It resounded like thunderclaps in his chest, every word heard like eating a bullet._

 _"Claudia, he's ten years old." John Stilinski sighed. "He wants to kill me." She echoed, eyes blazing with fury and determination; and then she was looking right at him, javelins in her gaze. Stiles felt like he was going to throw up, his stomach tensing, his throat closing up. He dropped his own gaze to the soles of his shoes, he couldn't look at her any longer._

 _He couldn't look at his mother._

 _"Stop looking at me like that." She charged at him. "Stop it!" she pounced on him, sharp nails pointed and desperate to claw his face off. "STOP LOOKING AT ME!"_

 _She fastened her palms tightly around his neck and choked him to death._

"No! No! Stop! Please! Mom... _No!"_ His eyes flew open and he fought against his restraints, feeling pain like nothing he'd felt before shooting up both his arms at the attempt. His vision cleared and three figures loomed over him.

It was a dream, it was just a dream.

The girl with the stormy hair grinned sadistically. "So many mommy issues," she chuckled. "Tell me. How horrible was it for you knowing how much she despised you?"

"SHUT UP!" He exclaimed, suddenly seeing red. His voice booming, his eyes wide with the rage that threatened to rattle him. He shook, violent as a hurricane, in an attempt to break free from the chains, but his shoulders sagged and all the strength was sucked right out of him when he saw her. Lydia sat on a wooden chair above him, eyes glassy with tears unshed, conviction shadowing her features; a similar conviction to...

It didn't matter. Lydia's right hand shook where she held the bloody knife. She was a crimson nightmare, eyes void, posture too straight for someone in that much pain, her thighs the spots of massacres, the blood dripping down her calves.

"Stop," he croaked helplessly. "Why are you making her do this?" he begged.

A scary looking man with a giant scar for a face cackled. "To see that priceless look on your face, of course," Stern grinned. "She's doing it for you. I guess she really does love you. Ah, young love. The stuff of nightmares, truly. It's like a plague, once it poisons you, there's no curing it."

That was it. That was all it took for Stiles' to go ballistic. He gave Lydia one more glance. She managed a painful smile that told him she was still okay, still alive, still... still alive. Strength replenished his bones, anger that began like a tsunami in his gut and washed over his entire body engulfed him like fiery fury. He yanked himself out of his chains, numb to the pain that had obviously come as a consequence. He wasn't in his suit, but Stiles still had his superhuman strength, reflexes, and balance, which meant he could still fight.

"Your first mistake," he began as he waltzed over to the scar-faced man despite the burning in his feet, "was to underestimate a freaking werewolf," he grinned. As if on cue, like they had some sort of telepathic connection, a howl shook the factory, reverberating through the steel walls like the din of bombs. Scott McCall burst through the double doors, his eyes the color of rubies, his fangs like daggers and his prowess graceful as a cat's yet fierce as a lion's. He leapt upon Stern's sidekick, howling once more - a howl that might as well impress Derek Hale. Allison slid in next, her smile deadly as a sapphire sword, her eyes playful yet vengeful, smoldering with wrath and poise. She pounced on the girl, which left Stiles to a face-off with the Whirlwind.

He was quite okay with that as he planned to blow the bastard away, pun certainly intended, by the end of all this. To his surprise, even though his sidekicks were being assaulted on both sides of him, Stern smiled lightly; like this was a fraction of his plan all along. There was a part of Stiles that knew this was just a trick he was pulling to mess with his head, but that didn't seem to keep him from suddenly feeling slightly unnerved. All it took was yet another glance at Lydia and Stiles didn't care anymore. He didn't care at all. He charged at the man, who simply lifted a finger and sent the pale boy flying backwards; his head hitting the steel doorway behind him with a sickening crack. Stiles' barely felt the pain as he leapt onto his feet within seconds like a ninja master (superhuman perks), and charged at him again.

There was another part of Stiles that told him trying to fight a dude who could control the wind was futile. He was obviously way more powerful and looked like he could crack Stiles' ribs between his teeth if he wanted to. Not to mention there was a part of him that wondered if the Whirlwind was just a nickname or if he could legit create them. Despite the voices of reason in his head, his heart was on autopilot, and that made him want to try despite the impossible odds.

He hurt Lydia Martin, after all.

Nobody hurt Lydia Martin and got away with it. Not if Stiles could do anything about it.

He would keep trying, he would get up and fight every single time the Whirlwind blasted at him, there would come an instant where he'd strike too late or too fast or inaccurately and Stiles' would get the upper hand. Everyone had their weaknesses, even big, wind-controlling psychopaths. Eventually, it was a game of cat and mouse.

Stiles for once, was the mouse.

Being smaller and faster aided him at one point, he managed to dodge almost every single blow by either rolling aside, jumping past or simply ducking. The self-defense was all well and good, but there were flames rising in Stiles' chest, he wanted to strike the asshole. Repeatedly. And hard. Scott, who had overthrown the scar-faced man, came to Stiles' aid, catching Stern off-guard and lunging onto his back to temporarily occupy him. The Whirlwind staggered and Stiles' raced over to him, landing a couple of well-delivered punches and jabs. He even yanked the knife out of Lydia's frail hand and stuck it in Stern's own leg. He bellowed in pain before prying Scott off of him with his bare hands and sending the young wolf soaring into a bunch of cabinets situated bang opposite to where he stood.

That caught Stiles off guard.

Scott was extremely strong, it wasn't an easy task to push him away from you if he was exerting force, let alone flick him off of you like a fly. It got him wondering just how physically capable Stern really was. He didn't wonder for long. Stern was done using his supernatural abilities, now he was charging right at Stiles', red hot fury alight in his black pupils. Stiles simply side-stepped and Stern was dashing too fast to skid to a stop on cue, his body smacking right into the steel door. He groaned in aggravation, sounding more annoyed than injured.

"Jesus," Stiles muttered. "What are you made of, dude? Rock? Because that's only cool in Fantastic Four," when he turned around again, Allison had somehow overcome the grey-haired girl and was shooting polished silver arrows right at the Whirlwind, each arrow seemed to be laced with something deadly and drippy. Unfortunately, he was deflecting every single arrow, either bending it mid-air or simply forcing a gust of wind that sent the arrows flying in a frantic frenzy so they were zigzagging in every other direction. Allison kept trying, not a single arrow touched him. It wasn't her aim, it was his superpower. Stern turned the tables around when he sent one of her arrows backwards, twirling it around suspended in mid-air with the spin of a fingertip. The arrow turned around, now heading right for Allison's face at the speed of sound.

Stiles' eyes widened and he pushed himself in front of her, using quick thinking and sharp responses to catch the arrow in his fist. He watched his hand quiver at the force of the arrow and it clattered to the floor, however, before Stiles could even blink, another one of her arrows had been turned on them, and it lodged itself into his right leg.

Suddenly, he couldn't feel his legs anymore. It was like he was rendered insensate or something. Allison yelped in horror as he toppled to the floor on his back, unable to move.

"Allison," he said quietly. "What do your poison arrows do, exactly?"

The brunette's cheeks were red as roses, her brown eyes wide and full of sheepishness. "It's basically... It's this rare kind of venom... You're basically paralyzed from the waist-down," she muttered. "Oh, Stiles! I'm so, so sorry! If it helps, it's uh - _temporary_ ,"

"How long are we talkin'?"

"About five hours? Give or take,"

"Lovely."

Allison sighed, on her knees next to Stiles' with a frown coloring her features. Scott had managed to stand, but instead of fighting Stern, he was checking on a passed out Lydia, who lay limp on the chair, blood staining her skirt and slithering down her legs into her boots, one of her hands dangling slack to the side. It made Stiles' heart ache, but he couldn't do a thing, move a muscle, he was stuck on the floor like an insect caught in a spiderweb. He was grateful for Scott, who shot him a reassuring look, letting him know she was still alive.

Stern cackled, and even though he wasn't in Stiles' field of vision, he could practically see the smug grin twisting his ugly features. "Let my friends go," Stiles finally said, eyes burning. "You can do whatever you want with me. Okay? Kill me, I don't care anymore. Just... Just let them go. Let them take her to the hospital... _Please_ ,"

It was pathetic and he knew it. Imploring the evil villain to spare their lives, but he was desperate and he'd given it everything he had, he'd tried his best but without his legs, he could barely move. Even the muscles in his back were sore and tense, and his superhuman strength seemed to be compromised by whatever Allison's arrow had been laced with. Trying to fight his way out at this point, would be ridiculous and pitiful.

"Don't say that," Allison chastised. "We aren't leaving you here like this," Scott agreed. He was growling again, his eyes shining a deep red. "No," Stiles said. "You can't fight him, Scott."

"Stiles," Scott snapped. "You never give up. Ever. Remember? Plus... You're my brother. I won't leave you here,"

"Do it for her," Stiles said, his conscience burning too. "Do it for Lydia, please, I love her, Scott. We can't let her die like this, I promised I would protect her, I promised... I promised I'd die for her if it came to that,"

"Stiles -"

"Go,"

Allison stared slack-jawed as Scott picked Lydia up into his arms and outstretched a free hand towards her. "Come on,"

"What? You aren't seriously considering leaving him here to fend for himself? He's paralyzed, Scott!"

"I would've done the same thing," he admitted quietly, unable to meet her eyes. "For you, I would've done the same thing. Stiles is my best friend and I trust him, Ali. I think he's gonna be okay," he muttered. Allison simply gaped at her boyfriend like she couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth.

Stern rolled his eyes, still standing there like a mountain blocking their path. "I'm not going to kill him despite his flimsy attempt to best me," he announced nonchalantly, astonishing everyone, including Stiles. "I admire your friends' camaraderie, and your brave stupidity. I may be a stone cold killer but I'm not ruthless," he went on. "So I have a proposition for you,"

 _Oh, great. Those always go swell in the movies.  
_  
"I knew there'd be a catch," Stiles muttered. "Look, man. I'd take the offer, but I'm pretty sure it's going to backfire on me, whatever it is." Allison smacked Stiles hard in the arm, he barely felt it.

"Just hear him out, idiot!"

"Listen to the girl, Stiles. This may very well be your only way out of this sticky little situation, well - other than death, you know," Stiles could hear the smile in his tone. "Fine," Stiles muttered irritably. "What is it?"

"I want you to turn a blind eye on everything you know about Wolfram & Hart's involvement in this case, and then I want you to aid us -"

"No freaking way -"

"You have a week's time. Mull over what is really important to you. The lives of those you love, your pesky wolf pals, your girlfriend, your _father,_ " he stressed on that last one, sending Stiles' blood pressure to sky-rocket levels. "Or a city full of strangers that would self-destruct with or without our contribution. Two weeks, Stiles. That's more than enough time for you to come up with a solution to your moral conundrum. If you do decide to help me, you will receive a message from me shortly after. If you refuse to help me, I'll oblige as long as you keep your little trap shut about all that you know and make sure the police stay off our scent. If you decide to go _against_ me however, then let's just say... I will make your life a living hell. I will strip away everything you love, piece by piece until there is nobody left and what happened today will seem like a wonderful dream compared to the terrors that await you,"

"So essentially, you're giving me no choice at all. It's either I become totally cool with all the horrible stuff you're up to or I get prepared to leave everything I've ever cared for?"

Stern paused for a second, before shrugging. "Basically."

"Great." Stiles muttered between gritted teeth. "Choose wisely," he said, and then there was a gust of wind and he was gone, along with his fallen sidekicks.

Stiles let out a shaky breath. "Oh, Stiles," Allison sighed. "What are you gonna do?"

"Go with Scott. Get Lydia to the hospital. I'll catch up."

"But -"

"I'll be fine."

They both knew that was a lie.

* * *

 **WANT QUICKER UPDATES? DROP ME A REVIEW AND I'LL CONSIDER IT.**

 **No, this is not blackmail. Totally not. I would never do that to my fellow reader people! Definitely not. Um. I'm gonna go now.**

 **(But seriously, consider dropping me a nice review) Bye!**


	18. Anchors

**A/N: This update is late, and I'm sorry. I hope this chapter makes up for it. Enjoy and do review.**

* * *

 _When the leaves are gone,_  
 _and the beating sun_  
 _brings the war bang drums,_  
 _tell me you, will hold me_  
 _in the golden afterlife,_  
 _yeah, you,_  
 _you don't have to die alone tonight._

* * *

Lydia

She kept drifting in and out of consciousness.

It was a strange state she seemed to be stuck in, between the awake and the dreaming. There were flashes of fluorescent lights, the sickening yet ever-present smell of blood, warm hands slipping into her limp, cold ones, a chime of nervous, chirpy voices, the soft sense of nostalgia inching up her spine at the hum of a familiar lullaby, the one her mother used to sing to her when she was only a baby girl, the ghosting of breath over her forehead, needles digging into her pallid skin, and the strangely comforting eyes of a wolf...

She couldn't comprehend how much time had passed, where she'd been, where she was. She couldn't comprehend anything at all.

The lullaby returned, lifting her senses, filling her ears like warm honey, the waves of sleep pulled her under once more.

Stiles

He was pretty sure he was going to lose every single brain cell he had left.

He was going insane with worry all week with Lydia in the hospital. They told him she'd lost a hell lot of blood and that she was lucky they brought her in when they did, had it been a second or two later... it might've been too late. They told him it was miraculous she was even alive after all that blood loss, they told him that she was a fighter and not to lose hope. The days were a blur, the nights endless, he had to remind himself he still had a duty to the city, that he wasn't just allowed to quit and give up on his world, even if he was coming close to it.

Scott and Allison had been amazing. The first two days, only family was allowed in Lydia's hospital room, yet he convinced her mom - who thought this was all a result of some brutal kidnapping, to let him see her and spent the nights at the hospital with her. Scott and Allison would bring him breakfast every morning, and warm blankets every evening.

Stiles felt like a walking corpse with Lydia's life on the line.

He had to keep reminding his mind not to go to that dark place he'd avoided for so long. When he wasn't thinking about Lydia, he was thinking about his mother and that terrible dream Stern's sidekick had shown him, still fresh and vivid in his mind like it had just happened. Other times, he found his mind wandering to the ticking clock on his bedroom wall, reminding him how time was trickling past like water and that he had a decision to make - and soon. Stern was a lot of revolting things, but he was also a man of his word. Stiles believed that.

On Thursday night, when Spiderman was patrolling the streets, he spotted a mugging in a darkened alleyway. Three buff looking men in grey hoodies, wrestling a helpless couple of teenage kids with barely any money on them.

"You guys are really terrible muggers," Spiderman mumbled, sauntering in and whistling softly under his breath. "I mean, _seriously_. Would you look at them? They probably don't even have enough money on them for a bus ticket."

He halted by them and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting. "I mean - go mug Paris Hilton or something," he went on.

All three of the dudes turned to him, letting the kids go as they stood there shuddering. " _Go_ ," Spiderman said. "Get out of here!" They ran as fast as they could.

"Now," he muttered. "Why don't you pick on someone who wished he was your own size?"

They lunged at him and he took out all his pent up anger on them. When he was done, he'd beat them up so good one could barely recognize their facial structures. Spiderman usually just knocked the bad guys out and handed them over to the police, he didn't like violence unless it was absolutely necessary. These days he didn't seem to care. He called 911 and vanished off a rooftop, there were so many blacks and blues on those mundane muggers, they would barely be able to move their limbs let alone escape.

Spiderman went home and changed into a comfortable pair of khakis and a t-shirt. He washed his hands of blood that was not his own and applied some ointment on a couple of lingering bruises. He made his father some soup, left him a note stuck to the fridge underneath a magnet, and drove to the hospital to spend another night with Lydia. When he got there, his fists ached from all the punching, his head felt like there was a monument lodged inside of it, his feet were sore and his stomach was rejecting his dinner of chicken fried rice. He threw up in the bathroom and downed an aspirin. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay tonight. Some part of him didn't even want to. He couldn't stand looking at Lydia like this.

It was all taking a toll on him.

When he strolled into the hospital room, just to check on her before he left, she was asleep as usual. They told him she was in a light coma, but he liked to pretend she was just sleeping. He walked over to her and watched her as he'd done the four nights before.

It broke his heart to see his beautiful girl like this. Stiles remembered Lydia Martin when she was only nine years old, dressed to impress in a purple gown that brought the emerald out in her eyes, wearing a ribbon in her hair and clutching a book to her chest, the bright, bubbly little girl with hair like peach flames, the girl always first to raise her hand in class.

The girl that lay before him pretty much resembled her corpse. The strawberry-blonde of her hair looked worn out and stuck to her face in wet, dead clumps, the glow that usually sparkled her skin was now dull and pallid; like someone had replaced the blood in her veins with acid. Something inside his heart kept shattering again and again...

Stiles sighed, then he leaned in and kissed her right between the eyes. "Lydia," he said. "Lydia, if you can hear me. I need you to wake up. Alright? I love you."

He left the hospital, tears stung his eyes as he drove home, listening to the track 'Terrible Things' by Mayday Parade on repeat. When he got home, he fell asleep to the taste of his own saltwater tears and the image of a bloodied, broken beautiful girl.

And the state she was in was all his fault.

xxxxx

"It's not your fault," Scott insisted. "This was just what I was afraid of, Scott. It's absolutely my fault." Scott rolled his eyes. "For one moment, can you stop behaving like Gandhi's spirit has possessed your soul? Every bad thing that happens in this world is _not_ because of you,"

"I should never have let myself get close to her. I'm killing her."

"Hey, dude -"

"If I hadn't pursued her so much, if I'd just refused to go on that date to the dance... She'd still hate me, still treat me like dirt, but at least she'd be alive and healthy and luminescent as always. Allowing her into my dark world was gratuitous of me."

"I'm not going to sit and pretend I know what ' _gratuitous'_ means, but I'm also not going to sit here and pretend like what you're saying makes any sense. You -" Stiles cut Scott off again.

"Don't you get it, Scott? I'm living life like a constant battle, and the people close to me are going to keep getting the brunt of it. They're going to be the causalities of _my_ wars,"

"You know what? Take your Superhero Complex and shove it up your ass. You can't just run away from everyone you've ever cared about, because they - _we_ , care about you in return. We're not just going to let you walk away from us without a fight. These things happen, you didn't mean for it to happen. Ergo, not your fault."

"You're right yet... Lydia Martin might never wake up. That's on me."

"That's on Lydia. She really does feel something for you, Stiles. She made a conscious decision to use that knife on herself, she wasn't under a spell or hypnotism, there was no gun to her head," Scott muttered. "I should never have let myself get close to her," Stiles repeated, running a hand through his wild hair. "Stiles..."

"I'll see you later," he stood up, already on his way out of his bedroom. "I need to go beat up some criminals."

He was out the door before Scott could even refuse.

"That's not..." he sighed to himself. "That's probably not a good idea."

xxxxx

It was Friday evening when her eyes opened.

The doctor called him up and told him the good news. "It's a wondrous recovery. She still needs to stay at the hospital for a couple more days so that we can keep tabs on her and so that she can make more of a recovery. After that however, she's ready to come home,"

It was the best news he'd heard all week. He was at the hospital within minutes.

He knocked on the door and heard a weary, "come in" from the other side of it. Lydia sat on the hospital bed, garden green eyes puffy and wide and glued to the television screen above her. Scooby-Doo's theme song played softly on it. Stiles mustered a smile for her.

"Scooby-Doo," he said. "How ironic." Recalling their conversation about it the day they'd taken Scott's Harley for a spin. Lydia smiled back at him. "Isn't it?"

Lydia

It shouldn't have occurred to her, but it did.

Stiles looked terrible. His clothes were all wrinkled, his hair was beyond help, there were bruises across his face and arms like he'd gotten into more than a couple of fights. Even his honeysuckle eyes seemed like they lacked their usual luster. "What happened to you?" she asked pointedly. "Did you get into a bullfight?"

Stiles chuckled dryly. "Yeah. Pamplona's great, you know. We should plan our honeymoon there." Lydia didn't find his humor amusing. "Seriously, Stiles," he sat down next to her, frowning at her intensely. She couldn't take that look on his face.

"Stop looking at me like I'm a broken China doll," she snapped.

"I'm sorry," he intoned, bringing his gaze down to his feet. "It's just..."

"It's just what."

"It's just... I don't get it. Why did you do it? Harm yourself... for _me_ , and now... now you're lying in a freaking hospital bed, you just broke out of a bloody coma, and you still seem to be concerned about me,"

Now it was Lydia's turn to frown. "I..." she realized she didn't have an answer. Or she did. A very particular one. "I don't know," she sighed.

"You could have died, Lydia," he groaned, fury flaming his irises.

"I know this. We've been over this."

"I've been beyond miserable this entire week, Lydia. I can't deal when you're hurt. I go out of my mind. I've told you. So why do you remain dead set on torturing me like this?"

"I was trying to save your sorry life,"

"I'm aware. I wish you didn't." He looked away from her again, and Lydia noticed the tears that threatened to spill down his reddening cheeks. Stiles' hands were in his lap, tapping away at his thighs, to camouflage their incessant shaking.

Lydia's hands were instantly on top of his. That warmth she'd felt the night of the hailstorm when they'd given over to each other completely seemed to return, all ignited by a simple gesture. He still wouldn't look at her. "Stiles," she said. "I didn't think much of it first. I avoided thinking it for the longest time, actually - but I've finally made peace with it."

"What?" he steadily met her gaze.

"Stiles, I love you."

Silence. Absolute, dreadful, silence.

She couldn't believe she'd said it in the middle of a dull hospital room, yet it seemed like it had to be said.

He just looked at her. He got the look in his eye her father used to get when she was a little girl and he woke her up at 5 am to go watch the sunrise. Stiles looked at her like he was watching his first sunrise. It was the undeniable, seasonal change of subtle expressions on his face, hints of pure disbelief turned astonishment turned revelation turned into the sweetest smile she'd ever seen, one that brought the lights back into his amber eyes.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, all flustered and cute. "I didn't really catch what you said. Would you mind... saying it again?"

Lydia chuckled softly, wetting her lips and dropping her eyelashes to gaze upon their hands which were beginning to entangle. "I love you."

"God," Stiles muttered. "I love you, too," before she could even react, his lips were crushed to hers; careful not to be too harsh since she was still recovering but still passionate enough to make her completely lose her train of thought. Stiles' kisses felt like recovery. It was wonderful, and she couldn't believe she'd finally said those three dangerous words. Only she knew this time that she meant it with every fiber in her being, with all that she had.

 _I love Stiles. I'm in love with Stiles. And that's okay._

When he let go, he kept his forehead pressed to hers and closed his eyes. His breath ghosted over her mouth like a warm spring breeze. "Lydia, we'll face whatever's coming _together._ Okay?" she nodded, breathing into him. "You'll never be alone again." He promised, Lydia smiled at that. "I was never alone in the first place."

 _You were always there, and with me is where you've always lived. You finally found your way to my heart, across continents and oceans, through time and space, you finally found a way._

xxxxx

"A banshee..." she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else, eyes wide and sparkling with thought.

Lydia lay on her stomach across his bed, staring at him while he worked on his information board which was criss-crossed with an unbelievable amount of red thread. He ran his hand through his hair, groaning and stomping his feet every two minutes in exasperation since every lead seemed to turn out to be yet another dead-end. It had been about three days since she'd been released from the hospital, she still had a month of routine check-ups to endure and she would not be wearing her favorite short skirts any time soon, but she felt better and her head didn't spin anymore and the nightmares had stopped.

That seemed to be as good as it was going to get for quite some time.

"They predict death. How's that for maudlin? I mean out of all the creatures that I could have turned out to be..." she sighed, dropping her head in her hands.

"I don't know, I like it," he said. "Sounds a bit fairytale,"

Lydia laughed dryly. "Yeah. A _dark_ fairytale," she muttered.

"What would you have preferred being, if you got to pick?" Stiles' quizzed.

"I don't know. Vampires are all the rage these days, I wouldn't mind being a werewolf like Scott either; his eyes look pretty when they get red. I think I'd make a good mermaid. Ooh! Or I could be one from the faerie realm,"

"You're as daunting as a vampire, as magnificent as a werewolf, as dreamy as a mermaid and as beautiful as the fae folk. There we go. Problem solved." Stiles' remarked smartly, a lazy grin spilling across his features

. Lydia felt herself blush, avoiding the gaze that turned her insides to jello. "Hmm," she smiled, biting at her bottom lip. "Problem solved."

"Hey," Stiles strolled over to her and crouched down so they were eye-level. He brushed his knuckles against hers soothingly. "Think of how many deaths you may be able to prevent with this nifty little talent," he said. "It'll be a real blessing to have a Banshee on my Spidey Mobile,"

"Spidey Mobile?"

"It sounded cooler in my head,"

Lydia chuckled and wrapped her arms around his neck, falling into an engulfing kiss. When Stiles pulled away she pouted. "How about you take a little break from investigating and join me right here?" she patted the empty space next to her on the bed, smirking sardonically.

"This bed's unnecessarily big anyway," she pointed out.

Stiles eyes gleamed, he looked tempted; almost convinced, but Lydia caught the shoulder sag. "Lydia. Trust me when I say there is literally nothing else I'd rather be doing than having a whole make out spree with you right now, but my dad's job is on the line and Stern's empty threat isn't so empty, and -"

"And _priorities_ , I get it."

Stiles sighed, pressing his temples. "I'm so tired," he admitted. "I'm just so tired."

"Of being Spiderman?"

"I don't know. Of everything,"

"You'll figure it out," Lydia said, conviction lighting up her words.

Stiles furrowed an eyebrow. "How are you so sure?"

"You're one of the smartest people I know, and that's coming from me. Not to mention, you _always_ figure it out."

Stiles smiled. "Yeah. I hope you're right."

He turned around to jump back into his heap of red herrings when the idea dawned over her. "Stiles," she said carefully. "I have something in mind."

"Enlighten me," he muttered, making a hand gesture for her to elaborate.

"How about you help me, and I help you."

"I'm lost." He admitted.

"I want you to teach me how to fight. That day when the Whirlwind chained me up... I felt weak. I've never felt as weak in my life than I did when I was lying there on that cold factory floor absolutely defenseless. I don't want to be defenseless anymore." Stiles eyes widened. "Lydia -" he began, she cut him off.

"I know it's a dangerous path blah blah blah, but you would be teaching me self-defense, which is pretty useful even for normal people. We, are _not_ normal people. You're not the only weirdo anymore. I'm a weirdo too. Every weirdo deserves to be trained."

"And how would you be helping me?"

Lydia shrugged. "Two heads are better than one, especially when one head has a statistically higher-than-average IQ,"

Stiles sighed but nodded anyway. "You've got yourself a deal."

Stiles

He'd realized something.

As he looked upon the determination blazing in Lydia's eyes, as he recalled the words that Anger choked out of him when he'd spoken with Scott, back when Lydia's fate was still up in the air, as he stared blankly at his red herrings board. He realized. They were each other's anchors; each other's emotional tethers. He'd brought her back from the clasp of her coma, she'd brought him back from the brink of insanity. Having an anchor didn't make you vulnerable or weak, having an anchor made you stronger; kept you grounded. He was lucky enough to have Lydia in his life, to have Scott; and Allison.

Instead of wishing away the only people in this world who truly cared about him, he was going to start appreciating them. Would it be more difficult to keep them safe as they stood in the midst of the ongoing war that was his life? Sure, but nothing was impossible, he was Spiderman for crying out loud. And that was the most impossible thing of them all.

Later that day, when he pulled on the red spandex and Tarzan-ed across the city, he felt for once that things might just sort themselves out. This city was his home, and those demons who wanted to destroy it would have to go through him and his friends before they accomplished anything. There was a storm coming, but Stiles was an expert at battling rain already.

xxxxx

That night, he began dreaming again.

 _The sky is mauve, a flaming ruby ducks behind distant sand dunes._

 _The sun is setting. There's this quote about sunsets that I remember reading somewhere, in a book my dad bought for me when I was a kid. Sunsets are symbols. What do they symbolize? I don't seem to remember the answer. I stare down at my feet and they're sheltered in powdery white sand like sugar. I'm wearing the gray t-shirt and blue pajamas I fell asleep in. Somehow, I know this is a dream but I don't know where I am._

 _All of a sudden I'm shivering despite the heat, and gentle arms sneak around my waist. I stare down at my middle. The arms are strong as vines, comforting like a home yet firm as an anchor and she rests her chin against my neck. Her lips are like leaves against my skin, and her breath a promise of a thousand kisses. I lean against her and I feel powerful, invincible._

 _"Just stay with me forever. Okay?" I intone. "I'll try," Lydia sounds upset. I want to respond, but she's beginning to disintegrate around me; like a reflection dissolving into rippling water. "No," I gasp. "Wait! Don't leave!" There's nothing I can do. She's already gone. My knees buckle underneath me and I crumple into the sand, tears like liquid knives stabbing my eyelids. "Everyone around me is fated to get hurt," I croak. Nobody responds. Nobody cares. I'm alone._

 _"My beautiful boy," the voice is familiar, and with it comes memories of starry nights tucked safe into bed, and dizzying memories of better days. "Mum?" There's thick desperation clinging to my voice as I speak. She materializes in front of me, like she was created from the sand particles. Everything about her is just as it was before the disease seized her. Those homely eyes and that stunning smile, the scent of tea and grapefruit cologne - the scent of my mother. She wears a gorgeous dress that floats with orange sparks around her like it's made of the same material as the sun. She offers me a hand and I take it. I'm touching her again. "I can't do this without you," I whine. "It's been so difficult."_

 _My mother silences me with a single kiss on the forehead. "You must be strong now. If you pass the final ordeal, everything will fall into place and you will prosper." I wrap my arms around her, determined to keep her pinned there so that we can stay this way forever. "I don't understand," I whisper against the fabric of her sparkling gown. "In time you will, sweetie." I wipe away stray tears, and my chest burns as I inch away from her; ever so slightly._

 _"Is it really you?" My mother looks sad, wistful. "If you want it to be."_

 _"I miss you," I say, I want it to be. "What's coming is dark, but you will find your way back to the sun. After all, you're my brave boy," he wanted to hang on to her ghost for as long as he could. "Will I see you again?" he questioned._

 _"Oh, I hope not soon."_

 _"Why?" he asked, but she was gone._

When he woke up, he was already crying.


	19. Do Not Go Gentle

**A/N: I have something to say to all of you. Something that's been really disturbing to me for quite some time now. Writers spend weeks and months working on a story and so many of you readers expect to just be given a new chapter even if you don't give anything to the writer in return. Now I'll explain to you what I mean by posting a post I reblogged on tumblr for you all to understand better:**

 **I'm going to date myself a bit here, but I've been reading/writing fanfiction for ten years. And when I first started it was a _wonderful_ community. There was an unspoken rule – if you read/enjoyed it, you review it. You take thirty seconds to tell an author who probably spent anywhere from three days to a week writing that chapter you just enjoyed to tell them you enjoyed it. Even if it was as simple as "Great chapter, can't wait to see what happens next!"**

 **Writers spend _so much time_ on stories, and then they post it because they have this thing that they've invested so many hours into and they want to share it with the world. They know how _they_ feel about the story, and they want to know how _other_ people feel, what _other_ people think.**

 **And when you read it and don't review, you know what message you're sending that author? That they're not worth your time, or you didn't enjoy their story. So why should they keep posting it? Yeah they might continue working on it in their own time, for their own enjoyment, but you might never see another chapter again because you couldn't be bothered to take thirty seconds out of your day to tell them how you feel.**

 **Everyone keeps saying "reviews don't matter, you should just write for yourself." Well, you're wrong. Reviews make or break fanfiction. Reviews tell writers whether it's worth their time to continue posting that story online or whether they should keep it on their hard drives and never share it with the world.**

 **Kill the attitude that reviews don't matter. Start telling writers you like their stories. And if you don't, if you all just continue to be invisible readers? Don't be surprised when that writer disappears.**

 **This is the reason I stopped writing fanfiction for the Sydrian fandom, and it might be the reason I stop writing for the Stydia fandom too on this website. I get a lot of traffic on this story, and look at my reviews. I barely have a 100 something reviews! All I've been asking ever since I begun posting Black Webs is for you guys to acknowledge me some more, provide some more feedback, and I'm just not seeing that. This is not me trying to black mail you but I feel so demotivated when I get nothing from you all. The last chapter I posted, I got a total of one review on that. How's that for feeling crappy? I don't expect this note to actually make you guys shower me with reviews, but I hope it at least gets some of you to change your ways, to understand where us writers come from. I've still posted the chapter, and I'll still continue to. I just want to see some acknowledgement, some feedback, any response at all from all you ghost readers out there. Or just read my story on wattpad, where I'm at least acknowledged and comment there.**

 **PLEASE.**

* * *

 _and you want three wishes:  
one to fly the heavens  
one to swim like fishes  
and then one you're saving for a rainy day,  
if your lover ever takes her love away._

* * *

Lydia

 _Glide. Thrust. Parry. Side-step. Tra_ _verse. Lunge. Glide._

Lydia was trapped in her own world, attacking imaginary enemies as Stiles stood by and watched her. Allison hooked them up with a training room for practice, she admitted it was where her father took her to train. "I didn't just become a hunter overnight," she said as she jiggled the keys in their faces with a smirk. It was an impressive space the size of a cinema hall situated in an empty office building plot her parents had bought. It was perfectly equipped too, complete with red and white targets, a boxing ring and an obstacle course.

 _Cut. Parry. Thrust...  
_  
Lydia frowned, "What comes after the thrust?"

Stiles strolled over to her, "Your death," he mumbled casually. "Unless you remember those moves correctly, anyway." Lydia groaned, kicking the air irritably and sauntering over to him.

"I'm trying!"

"Try harder." He simply stated. Lydia couldn't believe what a strict instructor he was; and it was only their fifth day of training. She was dressed in a sweatshirt and yoga pants, but she'd been at this for over two hours now and was pretty sure she was beginning to resemble a fish with all the accumulating sweat. Lydia took a deep breath, cracked her knuckles and unzipped her sweatshirt so she was only in her sports bra. She tossed the sweatshirt at Stiles, who caught it mid-air and tossed it to the floor. "You better dry clean that for me," she snapped, eyes glinting.

Stiles smirked, then without a word, he yanked her towards him and grabbed her by the neck, securing her tightly in a headlock. Lydia gasped in shock, her breathing ragged. "Try to break out of my grasp. You have five seconds."

"Are you insane?" Lydia groaned, struggling against his death grip, her eyes stinging and her limbs aching.

"Four seconds."

"I need more time!"

"Three seconds."

She tried her best to overthrow him, but it was practically impossible. He was too strong for her, even when he wasn't using his Spiderman strength. Her body slumped against his, and with his chest heaving against her spine, butterflies began to play the freaking Hunger Games inside her stomach. Stiles sighed, dropping his arm. "You've gotta do better than that."

"Well... Maybe you've gotta _teach_ better," she remarked, wiping an oncoming bead of sweat from her forehead and walking over to the lounge chairs and table on the left hand side of the room where they were taking their breaks for a sip of water.

"Who's the Yoda here?"

"You are," she sighed, rolling her eyes as she collapsed on the chair and took some long sips of much needed water. "That's right. Look, your attacker won't give you longer than five seconds to escape for your life, assuming he's trained, which he will be, he might give you even less."

"Alright. I suck. We've established that already. How do I break out of his grasp?"

Stiles put his arms behind his back, pacing the length of the room in front of her. "Rule number one is to avoid the headlock completely. Your mistake was you saw me coming and did nothing about it, and chances are your attacker isn't going to be half as blatant about it as I was. So be aware of your surroundings and maintain your posture," he explained. Lydia was trying extremely hard not to be absolutely turned on by how sexy Stiles was when he was in No-Nonsense-Instructor-Mode. He was wearing a grey t-shirt and dark track pants, his hair was a mess of slight curls and he smelt like deodorant and mints. It was invoking Lusty Lydia, who wanted to yank that t-shirt off his body and pin him to the floor so they could make-out until the sun went down.

Lusty Lydia had to go. She hadn't been joking about learning how to fight, she was sick and tired of being the helpless victim, the damsel in distress. The next time someone came at her, she was determined to be ready for them. That meant there was room for only All-Work-And-No-Play Lydia, at least until they took a break anyway...

After that, it was likely they could simply take advantage of how hot the situation was.

Stiles carried on, oblivious of her drifting thoughts. "Rule number two, if you become aware a split second before the headlock is applied, you can still escape it by maneuvering out of it or ducking and blocking their arms," he said. "Of course, you did none of those two things, so in your case you've got to go to rule number three," he stood right in front of her and extended an arm.

"Get up," he instructed. She took his hand and got to her feet. "Grab me in a headlock. Do it. As tight as you can. Come on," he said. Lydia secured an arm around his neck with as much strength as she could conjure in the moment. Lydia felt Stiles' chin under her arm. "Tuck your chin," he explained. "The last thing you want is for them to cut off your supply of air or blood. Turn your head towards their body, using their chest to protect your face from their fists," he turned ever so slightly, his spine pressed against her torso. "Now you want to rotate your body, use your shoulder to place your arm in front of the adversary's body," Stiles did as he explained so his arm was in front of Lydia's stomach.

"Place your leg behind both of their legs," Stiles took a step backwards, acting out his words. "Fall backwards and trip them over your leg," he leaned on her, making her lose balance and collapse to the floor on her side. "Ow," she groaned. "That's when you push off the ground and run," he concluded, untangling their limbs and standing up, dusting his track pants off.

Lydia grunted, still on the floor. Stiles offered her his hand again, she smacked it away and stood up on her own. Stiles grinned. "Now. You try," he insisted.

Lydia nodded and he lunged to grab her by the neck once more. He succeeded and pulled her into another headlock. Lydia took a deep breath, recalling all that he'd instructed. _You can do this, Lydia. Come on.  
_  
Lydia tucked her chin and straightened her posture, after which she spread her legs a little wider, but her feet burned and she was pretty sure she would trip herself if she tried to trip him, so instead of falling backwards, she recalculated her stance and nudged him in the stomach with her elbow as hard as she could. Stiles' clasp loosened and she turned on her heel on cue, raising her leg to perform the fly kick he'd taught her yesterday and nailing him on the knees to knock him right off his feet. He hit the ground with a light thud.

Lydia leapt in triumph, pumping a small fist in the air. "Woohoo!"

Stiles smiled proudly, while simultaneously wincing and holding his stomach. "That was better," he confessed. "Better? I kicked ass!"

"Let's not get too confident."

This went on for another hour. Eventually they were at their last stop: a punching bag. Lydia pulled on the punching gloves and Stiles held the bag carefully. "Give it all you got. Channel all the rage, all the pent up fury, right into these punches. Think of the punching bag as someone whose face you can't stand. Let's go." Lydia made a couple dozen punches, even accidently knocking Stiles' on the jaw. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so, sorry!" she exclaimed, slipping off the gloves and heading over to him to examine his bleeding jaw.

When that was over, the two of them simply sat there quietly on the floor, breathing heavily and contemplating their progress. Stiles' gaze then dropped to her cleavage and her bare stomach, eyes widening like he'd only just really _looked_ at her, signaling to her that Regular Stiles was back. "Did I ever tell you how mindblowingly sexy you look in your tight workout clothes?" he questioned. Lydia bit her lip flirtatiously. "I guess you just did."

He lunged at her again, but this time, it wasn't to attack.

xxxxx

"The world looks so pretty at night," Lydia mused, with her head buried in his chest.

They were seated on Lydia's roof under a mess of mattresses and covers. The string of yellow bulbs that illuminated Lydia's rooftop swayed softly in the wind above them, the city lights below were a mirage of twinkling stars and the sky was a charcoal portrait. The moonlight spilled onto the roof and kissed the tips of Stiles' hair and some of its magic was caught in his eyes.

"I wish nights were as pretty as they seem," Stiles muttered dryly. Lydia tilted her head slightly. "What do you mean?" he shrugged. "Spiderman lives for the night, remember? Nights are full of terrors here," he explained.

"Do not go gentle into that good night," Lydia said thoughtfully.

Stiles sighed, and she felt his chest rise slightly. She repositioned herself a little so that she could listen to his heartbeat. With his hands wrapped around her and her head against his chest, she was feeling suddenly hopeful - but there was an underlying sense of dread that both of them were feeling and neither one of them was talking about. Lydia pretended it wasn't there.

"Maybe we should run away," Lydia suggested randomly, eyes wide as the sky. Stiles chuckled. "Oh really. Where to?" she shrugged. "I don't know. Anywhere. We could drive to some quaint little town out in the middle of nowhere, you know, where the police station's just one guy and his horse? I could work at the diner by the gas station, I'd get to wear a cute dress and fake a Southern accent. You could rent us an adorable little house facing the highway and milk the cows."

Stiles sounded offended. "Why would I be the one milking the cows?"

"Or we could change our names and join a bunch of Buddhists in the icy ranges of Nepal," Lydia suggested, going on like he hadn't said a thing. "We could go to Hawaii and learn how to surf," Stiles pointed out.

"And swim with sharks!" She agreed excitedly.

"Or we could open an alpaca ranch in Texas, one that requires all strawberry-blonde, green-eyed, brainy girls to wear sexy cowgirl outfits." Stiles smirked, twirling a strand of her hair in his index finger.

"Or we could join The Underworld Mafia. We could be gangsters and take over the world. Limozines and sparkly suits." He said. "Champagne and curly hair." She added.

"Hmm," Lydia rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "We could move to Sweden and book one of those really expensive, fairytale chalets," she thought out loud. "Oh hell yes! We could go skiing and drink rich coffee and make love by the fire place,"

"We could have snow ball fights!"

"And we wouldn't even have to bathe everyday!"

Lydia frowned at that. "Who said we wouldn't have to bathe?"

"I don't know, I thought people in cold regions must bathe less because they don't get dirty that often," Stiles muttered idiotically. "You're such a dork," Lydia laughed.

"Oh, shut up. You love it," Stiles grinned as she leaned over, wrapped her arms around him and drowned him in an engulfing kiss. "I wish it was that easy," Stiles mumbled with a sigh when they were done. "To walk away from this life."

Lydia smiled sadly. "Me too."

When she looked up at Stiles again, she could tell just by the look on his face that he'd gone someplace else. Panic rose up inside her chest. "Stiles," she said. When he didn't respond immediately, she grabbed his chin and fixed her gaze right at him. "Stiles, _listen_ to me."

"We'll figure it out. You are not going to listen to what Stern has to say. Making a deal with a devil is never an intelligent idea. There are other ways,"

"I can't think of any, Lydia. He's threatened _everything_. He's threatened my dad, Scott. He's threatened you. I can't just throw caution to the wind and forget all that." Stiles spat, words burning. There was something foreign in his behavior, in the way he'd been behaving all evening, in his eyes. When she recognized it, she felt something inside her chest collapse. It was fear. Stiles was actually afraid what might happen. Stern had managed to rattle him to his core. Something in Lydia's heart tightened. "Nevermind. You won't understand -" she cut him off this time.

"I'm not a child! I'm not an idiot, either! I know what's at stake. I realize now what you're up against every day, going out there as Spiderman, and that's exactly why I need you to think this through!" Lydia exclaimed, heart pounding.

"That's - That's not what I meant. Of course you understand, Lydia. It's just, the whole world's on the line and if I'm not the one to do something about it then -"

"The _whole world_ is not your responsibility and the _world_ can wait."

Stiles' mouth curved into a straight line and he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wish it were that simple,"

"It is that simple! It doesn't matter what anyone says. I don't care if the sky turns orange and the whole world gets swept into oblivion, if you don't think this through, you're going to get killed. And then what. Huh? Be practical, Stiles. This is an evil overlord we're talking about. This isn't a movie. It's your life." Lydia reasoned.

Stiles sighed, pushing her back and standing up like he needed some air, some space. Lydia frowned at him. She watched him in his red plaid t-shirt and his washed up jeans, the way the wind always screwed up his hair in a really attractive way, and how his hands were noticeably shaking constantly. She watched him in silent inquisitiveness as he played a song on his phone and then proceeded to extend his arm for her to grab it.

Lydia stared at his hand. "What? You want to dance?"

"Why not."

"Stiles, you're freaking me out."

"Just take my hand. I won't bite."

"Why are you acting so strange?"

When he didn't answer, she relented. As she put her hand in his, she had to actually bite her lip to suppress her laughter. Stiles looked positively ridiculous in his wrinkled t-shirt and worn out plaid, but his eyes held daydreams. Lydia bit her lip once more and tried to catch the lyrics of the song.

 _"Some say love, it is a river.  
That drowns the tender reed.  
Some say love, it is a razor.  
That leaves your soul to bleed."_

He squeezed her hand, practically whisked her to her feet and yanked her into him. He placed his right hand on her waist, to rest on her back; one long finger finding a strip of bare skin right under the hem of Lydia's shirt. She tried not to shiver at the warmth spreading inside her and the electrifying tingling sensation that was creeping up and down her spine. She placed her hand in his left one, his was warm and strong. Good. He could steady her if her knees buckled and she stumbled, which, if she was being quite honest - she wasn't too far away from.

Lydia's hair which was up in a carefully created donut bun came undone, spilling down her shoulders in a storm of ringlets. The lyrics were louder than their footfalls.

 _"Some say love, it is a hunger.  
An endless aching need.  
I say love, it is a flower.  
And you, it's only seed."_

They swayed to the gentle tune of Stiles' song, their feet in perfect sync with one another. Lydia had always been a dancer; ever since her mother had put her into ballet, and she'd done her fair share of ball room dancing as well. To her surprise, Stiles was a natural himself. She looked into his eyes, it felt like diving into the ocean. There was déjà-vu in the pit of her stomach, reminding her of the first time they'd ever danced, at the Spring Formal. That Lydia would have broke into a laughing fit if she'd known what was in store for her. That Lydia was long dead.

 _"It's the heart afraid of breaking,  
That never learns to dance.  
It's the dream afraid of waking,  
That never takes the chance."_

Stiles' eyes still gleamed in the moonlight, almost deceiving. At first glance, they were as amber as they always have been, but if she looked directly into them for longer - they were almost black, and in the dull gleam of the light bulbs, they seemed to change colors like a kaleidoscope. It was mesmerizing, fathomless as the night sky. She took a shaky breath as he pulled her even closer, his face so close to hers that she could feel his minty breath on her face.

"What's with this song anyway? I've never heard it before," she whispered as he twirled her around.

"You have to promise you won't laugh at me," Stiles warned, in a low voice.

"Okay. I promise."

 _"It's the one who won't be taking  
Who cannot seem to give,  
And the soul, afraid of dyin'  
That never learns to live."_

"My mom and dad used to dance to this song. It was what they played on their wedding day - and I know it's stupid, but I have this sentimental thing for it. My dad always told me, "son, you should play this for the girl you decide to give your heart to.""

"That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard, Stilinski." Lydia said, he broke into a beautifully toothy grin. Sometimes he looked at her like maybe she was magic. Lydia felt her heart grow wings and flutter away, her stomach was made of dough. There was something inside her throat that ached like it often did when she was immensely sad, but she couldn't understand why it was there.

Maybe this was what it felt like to be incredibly sad and incredibly happy at the same time.

 _"When the night has been too lonely,  
And the road has been too long,  
That you think that love is only  
For the lucky and the strong."_

Stiles dropped his head on Lydia's shoulder as they continued their dance to the rhythm of the fading music. Lydia didn't have to glance upon his face to know he was sobbing. She stopped swaying and simply held him, wrapping her arms around him and patting his head. "It's going to be okay," she whispered soothingly, planting a kiss on his temple.

 _"Just remember in the winter,  
Far beneath the bitter snows  
Lies the seed that with the sun's love  
In the spring becomes the rose."_

The music died down and it was only when she blinked herself out of their summery daze that she realized that she'd been crying too. Lydia brushed away a tear.

"We're going to be okay," she lied.

xxxxx

Stiles

His time was up.

Stiles awoke in the middle of the night with a rising sense of dread so heavy it made him want to throw up. He awoke to the strangely warm darkness of his bedroom and everything looked seemingly normal, but his spidey sense was off the charts - and his spidey senses were never not accurate. Stiles' entire body already hurt from all the vigorous training, Spiderman duties and other... _activities_. He was tired and all he wanted to do was sleep, but when he turned around in bed and saw that pretty girl next to him who looked like she'd been kissed by an angel in her sleep, he was determined to do the needful.

He'd spent the entire week weighing an internal debate that still hadn't been successful n finding a mutually acceptable conclusion. Stern would have him, or he would have his city, or he would have the people he loved most in this world. Stiles would do anything for those people... Maybe if he just _pretended_ to cooperate...

"Stiles?" a sleepy voice chirped. "Stiles, what happened?"

"It's nothing. Go back to sleep."

"Stiles. You're scaring me," Lydia muttered, eyes wide and full of nightmares.

"Lydia, I'm not going anywhere. You're alright. Go back to sleep."

"Come back to bed first," she pleaded.

That was when he realized he'd somehow managed to stand up and get off the bed and was now on his way out the door, his feet paused on the carpet, his palm secured around the door knob.

"Stiles, please just... Come back to bed," Lydia echoed.

"Wait... There's something... There's something here..." he turned the knob.

"Stiles!" she yelled. "Stiles _please_!"

He wasn't listening anymore. "Don't go in there," she warned. "You can stay here, with me. Just come back to bed."

He ignored her requests and found himself walking out the door.

The door that was behind him melted away, and so did Lydia, and his bedroom. Now he was standing in snow. Everything was covered in a frosty moonlit blanket. Snowflakes swirled all around him, frantic and frenzied like they were going insane; like they were dancing to an intense orchestra chorus. The skies were white, so were his cheeks. When Stiles blinked again there was a black iron sword in his hand. His grip around it loosened and it clattered to the ground when he saw all the bodies laying around him.

He saw his father first, his eyes rolled up in his head, his face panic-stricken and idle, his body limp and lifeless. He was covered in blood. It stained his clothes and the snow surrounding him... Lydia, Scott and Allison looked the same. He recognized more bodies. Kids he went to school with. His father's colleagues from the station. Scott's mother, Lydia's mother, Allison's father...

Suddenly he was engulfed by darkness and then by light, they flittered about him at freight train frequencies. Yin giggled, her black snake-like hair whipped around her, her sharp-teethed smile seemed to drip venom. "The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout," she sang - like a doll from a horror movie. "Down came the rain and washed the spider out," she continued. Yang grinned, his golden teeth blinding as the sun. "We warned you, kid," he seemed to say. Their demonic cackling enwreathed him. Stiles opened his mouth to scream and no sound came out.

All he knew in that moment was that he was going to die.

Stiles collapsed to a writhing mess on the floor, The Whirlwind towered over him. "Relent. Relent or this is what will be in store for you."

xxxxx

Stiles woke up gasping and wheezing.

The room was still embalmed in darkness and Lydia was still sleeping next to him. Only he wasn't dreaming anymore.

It didn't matter. Someone had given him that dream, he knew exactly who it was. Stiles' spidey senses told him he had to go to Stern before Stern came to him.

So slowly, silently, he rolled off the bed, changed his clothes, packed a small bag and pulled on his converse. He pressed a kiss to Lydia's forehead as he made his way out the door, déjà-vu hitting him like a brick as his palm twisted the knob. Before he snuck off, he gave Lydia one last, long, wistful glance.

"I love you," he muttered under his breath. "And I'm sorry I have to do this."


	20. The Blackest Day

**A/N: Keep doin' the reviewin' thing y'all do.  
**

* * *

 _And finding answers.  
_ _Is forgetting all of the questions we called home._

 _Passing the graves of the unknown._

 _As reason clouds my eyes, with splendor fading._  
 _Illusions of the sunlight._  
 _And a reflection of a lie, will keep me waiting,_  
 _with love gone, for so long._

* * *

Lydia

She rose to an empty bed.

Lydia sensed the lack of his presence as soon as her eyes blinked open, she groaned, sitting up in bed and rubbing the back of her neck to get rid of a kink. When she sat up straighter and recovered her bearings; Stiles was still nowhere to be seen - in his own bedroom _. Maybe he just got hungry and hurried downstairs for breakfast. Maybe he's in the shower. Maybe it's a Spiderman thing._

The dread pooling in the pit of her stomach however, told her otherwise. Lydia didn't have spidey senses like he did, but she tended to go with her intuition, and right now, her intuition was not a pretty one. Lydia leapt out of bed, stretching and staring at the sunlight pouring in from the opened curtains in his bedroom, coloring everything in golden silhouettes. She grabbed her phone to check the time. Damn it. It was afternoon. She'd slept in.

Lydia strolled over to the bathroom, but the door was ajar and there was nobody inside. _Let's not hop to conclusions, Jumpy_ \- said a voice in her head and she rushed out, running downstairs to find a distressed John Stilinski sitting upon the dining table with his head in his hands. He was in his police uniform but he didn't look like he was prepared to face work today. Lydia had often conversed with Mr. Stilinski, he was a friend of her mother's and was often seen around their school too, patrolling or leading drug inspections. He was also well-known as one of NYPD's most esteemed field officers.

Lydia cleared her throat. "Um. Hi, . Have you seen Stiles?" she asked politely. John raised his head and whirled around to look at her, the permanent worry lines on his face only seemed to deepen at her hopeful expression. The look he shot her killed it, though. He sighed and handed her a piece of paper without saying a word.

Lydia frowned and gently accepted it, staring at the note intensely.

 _Hey, Dad. I'm going to have to head out for a bit. I can't tell you what it is, but it's something important. Don't freak out. I know how much you'd like to murder me right now, but you've got to trust me when I say the next move that I make, it's going to save this city and ensure your job stays secure. So you could say it's a rescue mission. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this part of my life, but... but just in case things don't work out as planned, I need you to know. I need you to know that I am Spiderman. I was bitten by a radioactive spider over a year and a half ago and Spiderman was the result. I'll fill you in on everything when I'm back, I promise. Dad. I love you. You mean abso-freaking-loutely everything to me so please just... Believe in me and let me do what I've set out to do. It's important you don't let the police get involved in this goosechase, it'll only add fuel to the fire and it might get someone killed. I'll be back. I won't leave you alone, Dad. I won't leave you like mom had to leave us. I'll be back. Just... Please don't freak out. I'll do the dishes for years to come, I'll do my laundry every week, I swear I'll arrange all the files and folders in your office in alphabetical order for you. I'll take any punishment, just put your trust in me and handle the NYPD for now. I'll see you soon._  
 _  
Oh, and... Tell Lydia I'm sorry._

Her fingers were shaking by the time she finished reading it. "What... What does he mean by that?" she grit her teeth. "Mr. Stilinski," her tone was dangerously calm. "What has your son done?" John pressed his temple and shook his head.

"He's headed on a suicide mission."

xxxxx

Stiles

"It's been a month. I won't wait any longer. I want to see her." He demanded.

The sky outside the window was shrouded by thick, stale clouds, stealing all the sunlight in the city and replacing it with grey rain. Stiles watched the raindrops pelting against his window with a certain disillusioned amusement, his arms crossed behind his back, his eyes darker than they'd ever been. Stern scoffed behind him, taking a big sip of Whiskey before smashing the glass to the floor just for the hell of it. It scattered to the floor like silver tears.

"You're impatient. What we're doing here is extremely important and we do not tolerate impatience," he snapped.

Stiles bit his lower lip, there was a sea storm in his chest. It was driving him nuts. "I don't give a damn about what you do. Do whatever the hell you want, but you can't keep me from her any longer!" Stiles exclaimed, whirling around and stomping towards Stern immediately.

"I'm going to go see her, and your puny henchmen won't try to stop me. If they do, I'll _end_ them and mark my words, you will be next." His eyes were laced with malice, proving to Stern he wasn't one for empty promises.

"Of... Of course," he muttered, his big shoulders slumping.

A sardonically satisfied smile graced his blue lips. "See. That's better. Isn't life so much simpler when we all learn to cooperate with each other?" Stiles picked up the sharpest shard of glass that lay clattered on the floor and jabbed it between Stern's knuckles; who yelped in anguish and shot a burst of air that sent him flying into the cabinets at the back of the room.

Stiles simply laughed and wiped the blood off his lower lip, staring at his bloodstained finger intensely before licking it. He was beginning to fall in love with the taste of blood.

He leapt to his feet and grabbed a coat. "I'm heading out. I don't need your Freak Parade following me around all day so just stick your noses elsewhere. If you're very good, everything will still go according to plan, I will be making my appearance as Spiderman tonight."

Stern opened his mouth to speak and Stiles simply smiled, malice lighting up his charcoal eyes.

"Oh and, stay away from Lydia Martin. She's mine to kill."

xxxxx

Lydia

She felt him everywhere.

When she fell asleep at night, she often woke up sweating and screaming his name, on the quieter nights she swore he was sitting there in the shadows; watching her sleep. She heard his voice in her head sometimes, and saw his face... Those pacifying hazel eyes... every single time she closed her eyes. Only he was absolutely nowhere to be found.

Mr. Stilinski had filed a missing person's report on him, Scott, Derek and their pack of wolves had been scouring every nook and cranny of New York City for days - and still nothing. Not to mention the absence of Spiderman was also starting to affect the city drastically. The FBI themselves admitted that Spiderman used to do half their jobs for them and faster; when he was around, but with his sudden vanishing act, a lot of people were also losing faith in their beloved superhero. The Spiderman club was no longer the most popular at school, people were losing interest already, forgetting his legacy and all that he did for this city, letting it all slip between their dry fingers like dust; like a case closed.

There were countless people who also believed Spiderman had been working for the bad guys all along, claiming he had connections to well-known terrorist agencies and the likes.

There were still some firm believers of course, some of who had even set up a candle lighting 'Prayers for Spiderman' thing at Central Park last Tuesday, but a lot of them believed that their hero was dead - that he would never abandon the city and that this was the only rational explanation there was. Lydia watched clips of numerous television debates about who Spiderman could be, whether he was a terrorist or not, and why he'd suddenly gone off the grid. There were new videos uploaded on YouTube every day, phonies claiming they'd spotted him around the city, or idiots claiming that they were Spiderman themselves or that they knew who he was and were in cahoots with him. Some Spiderman worshippers even made it on The Ellen Show. It was all preposterous.

Mr. Stilinski had done everything he could to keep the suspicion off Stiles, since Spiderman _did_ disappear around the same time as this seemingly unconnected teenage boy who just happened to be of the same weight and height - but the force was not dumb, John was afraid someone would eventually connect the dots.

"Lydia," Allison snapped her fingers in front of her face. They were standing by their lockers in school, with Allison giving her that same concern filled gaze she always seemed to give her these days. "Look. We lost him, too. Okay? But you've got to see someone."

"I'm not crazy, Allison!" she snapped, infuriated. Allison sighed, looking at her like she was a dumb child who didn't comprehend the world. "Stiles went to save the city. There has been absolutely no terror since he left and it's been a month. He succeeded in saving us but who knows what they did to him in consequence..."

"He's _not_ gone." Lydia muttered sharply, conviction like she'd never felt before alighting her response. "He's not dead."

"Maybe," Allison shrugged. "And I swear I hope to God that he's not... but Lydia, you can't carry on like this. He wouldn't have wanted for you to carry on like this."

"Stop talking about him like he's dead!" she retaliated, eyes burning wide, voice loud enough to crack and turn the heads of a dozen something school mates who were strolling the hallways.

Allison gaped at her friend before dropping her lashes and shaking her head; clearly exasperated. "I'm sorry," Lydia said earnestly, the fire in her stomach receding. "I have to go."

Lydia was wrong when she thought she would be able to go back to school like everything was normal. Everything was _not_ normal. She couldn't stand it there, not for a second. Not with all of those judging eyes observing her every move. She couldn't even face her best friend anymore.

 _If he was dead, I would feel it. If he were dead, I would know. I'm a banshee, it's the one thing I'm good for._

The day Lydia would start believing that Stiles really was dead would be the blackest day, and she wasn't ready for that day to ever arrive.

Allison and Scott reasoned that maybe her banshee notions were off, or that it only worked when the death was in her vicinity, but she trusted her senses, they were all she trusted.

When she drove home, she simply couldn't find the strength to get out and walk to the front door and up the steps that led to her bedroom so she sat in her car for a few brief minutes and turned up the radio so loud that nobody could hear her scream.

xxxxx

The concealer came first, her dark circles had only worsened ever since his disappearance.

Like permanent bruises under her eyes.

Those had to go.

The mascara came second, this one was waterproof so it wouldn't interfere with the tears if they came, they layered her lashes in a thick shade of heavy midnight black. Lydia added some blush to breathe life back into her cheeks because her face had grown pallid, colorless, pale like she spent her days in a vampire nest.

When she was done with the finishing touches she finally smacked on a cranberry red lipstick; it was one of her favorite colors, it reminded her of summer roses and pomegranates and bright butterflies. It was hard enough to keep going as it was, so she had to keep adding those little touches of splendor to her looks, simply to remind herself that she could not give up.

Lydia had been having a little investigation of her own, staying awake for days on end analyzing and strategizing and thinking of where on earth he could be. She got to the point where there was so much sleep deprivation she often passed out from exhaustion. Other times, she slept all day because she couldn't bear being awake in a world without him. Lydia thought it was ironic how much his sudden disappearance had affected her. It was like some kind of sick cosmic joke was being played on her.

First, she fell in love and everything was roses and sunshine and then he was taken away from her just as quickly as he'd come; and her entire world began to corrode.

Despite Lydia's continuous attempts at pinning him down; everything kept leading her to dead ends. It was like Stiles had wiped away all traces of his existence so he existed solely in her memory. It was painful; every time she thought about Stiles, about how wonderful he was, about that night they spent in that motel room between alcohol kissed covers and candlelight; caught in a world of their own, a world that the beastly rain outside their windows couldn't penetrate.

She missed his stupid jokes and his sarcasm and his lopsided grin. She missed his hugs and his messy hair and his bravery.

She quit crying after the first week; having used up all her energy and tears.

It was like her heart was being twisted and punched and smacked at repeatedly, like the organ had become someone's punching bag. Everytime she thought of the sunlight that laced his pupils whenever he smiled; everytime she thought of the simple prospect of his death, of trying to imagine her sunshine boy without the shine in his eyes - Lydia thought she would throw up.

She and Scott talked frequently ever since Stiles' disappearance, they would bond over memories of him when they needed cheering up. It never really worked though. How could it?

He was gone.

What happened at school with Allison in front of everyone was unfortunate. Lydia was smart enough to know that pushing close friends away would only make things worse, but sometimes she couldn't bear being around anyone who wasn't him.

Some nights, she wrote him letters and then she'd crumple them up and toss them in a bin, or she'd use an old lighter and watch lifelessly as her aching words went up in a flurry of orange and red flames.

Lydia thought about John Stilinski, who had been spending his days locked in his house and his nights drinking away the agony; in a desperate effort to come to terms with the fact that he had lost not one but two family members. Lydia thought about all the birds that wouldn't chirp anymore. She thought about that ten year old boy who swore to his father that he wanted to grow up to be just like Spiderman, she thought about that boy's hopes and dreams being torched to ashes in his wake. She thought about how Scott was doing everything he could to keep his mind off his best friend, going out there to beat up the bad guys all on his own, to stare death in the eye every time the sun went down, simply because he wanted to keep Spiderman's crusade alive, because he wanted to make sure that what Stiles started here wouldn't just be the rumpled last page of a coffee stained History book someday. She thought about how he was distancing himself from Allison, who herself couldn't even look anybody in the eye anymore, coming closer to understanding the significance _and_ the insignificance of someone's passing. She thought about the illuminated smile of a small boy in a big city who decided he wanted to change the world and it broke her.

God it broke her.

Lydia took a step back and examined herself in the mirror. The black jeans, stilettos and lacy sleeveless top flattered her figure with the elegance of a corset that enhanced her curves in all the right ways. Her strawberry-blonde locks were left to take on a life of their own; in a mess of enchanting ringlets; with that slight hint of cherry vanilla hair product. It had become a ritual, she chose to party away every Friday night, to lose herself in alcohol, glitter, the heartbeat of the bass, and the burning touch of boys she did not feel anything for.

On these nights, she pretended she felt nothing and it felt pretty darn good.

Lydia hadn't told her parents or even Scott or Allison about her Friday night rituals because she was sure that was basically like asking for a one way ticket to rehab. So she skipped out of the backdoor like she'd gotten so used to doing, hopped into her car and headed to Sinema, a new rave club situated on the Upper East Side.

xxxxx

Stiles

It wasn't difficult to track her at all, considering he knew all her rituals.

Lydia was so easy to stalk it was laughable, he'd been doing it for quite some time now, it was something even Stern didn't know about and Stiles intended to keep it that way. He spent weeks memorizing all her favorite places to go, watching her every single move from behind the shadows, creeping up on her at night and painting the way her face looked in the moonlight. Lydia would wake up every morning and pretend to eat the breakfast her mom whipped up for her which she actually threw in the garbage can, she downed two antidepressants every single day, once in the morning and once again in the evening, she ran four miles in the evenings and sometimes a mile extra when she was really feeling the fury, afterwards she'd go and beat the shit out of the punching bag that was situated in the Argents' Training Room. Lydia cried herself to sleep for an entire week, listening to dreary music and staring dramatically at the ceiling.

Now she didn't cry but lived like a walking corpse, that was until a Friday night bounced along and Lydia was alive again.

Stiles made his way to Club Sinema at dot ten-thirty pm.

He knew she would be there, and he couldn't wait to officially meet her.

Today was the day his torment would finally come to an end and he would have the girl he had been itching to taste since he'd first laid eyes on her. He held memories of her taste of course, but they weren't really his memories, the boy who had bedded her was a different person entirely.

Stiles had squashed that boy like a bug under his foot.

 _Club Sinema_. He thought, grinning to himself. _It had a nice ring to it._

He strolled into a rainbow world of strobe lights, pounding music and lasers like shock waves. There were people jammed into every single corner, Stiles contemplated killing at least a quarter of them so that there was more space, but he wanted to remain clean tonight. Tonight would be special. Tonight he would meet Lydia Martin. The DJ stood in the back of the room, wearing neon headphones and makeup, her pink hair bobbing around her like the leaves of a palm tree swaying in a wind storm. The bartenders tossed multi-colored drinks like confetti into the air and caught them with the proficiency of professional jugglers. He pushed past several sweaty, heated bodies until he caught sight of her flaming hair.

Lydia stood on the stage like she was the hottest event, dancing like a ballerina on fire, twirling around in circles, gyrating her hips, sliding to her knees and whipping her hair in sizzling circles. Lydia's eyes were glimmering gemstones, her plump lips dared the chaperones to take a bite, her swan-like legs were nailing every move to perfection. Lydia was a fairie queen, swathed in mauve and fusia mist like the seething temptress she was.

She was a goddess, she was a devil, she was his to behold.

Or well... She would be once he got his hands on her.

He waited for her performance to end, watching her from where he belonged, in between the shadows, with equal amounts of ferocity, fervor and twisted amusement. When her song ended, the audience roared and clapped; Stiles followed suit, stormy eyes transfixed on her rainy green ones.

Lydia stumbled off the stage, laughed a shimmer of mixed emotions and dropped herself into the arms of some random male undeserving of her attention. Stiles continued to watch her, examine her like he would a specimen behind glass, he noticed the boy did not have her attention at all, for her eyes were foggy, her head was in outer space, somewhere nobody would be able to reach her. Nobody except him.

Stiles watched the black butterfly of a girl unfurl in front of him like bad weather, he observed the way her body moved to the dominion of the unrelenting beat, the way some disgusting prick draped his arms around her slender waist, the magenta sparkles spraying her cheeks. Stiles felt his stomach churn like a whirlpool. She was only his to behold.

He slithered to her like a hungry snake.

Lydia didn't even notice when she slipped out of the boy's arms and stumbled into his. That only lasted for a few seconds though, for the heat between them was too intense. Stiles wrapped his arms around her tiny waist, her spine was pressed against his torso, he placed his chin on her shoulder and nibbled at her earlobe. Lydia gasped, her heartbeat accelerating.

"Miss me?" he intoned, his breath tickling her ear; the lion would not pounce on his prey, not yet. Lydia stopped dancing and very cautiously, slowly like she thought she might not be awake at all, turned around to regard him. Those green eyes he loved so much almost popped out of their sockets. Stiles broke into an easy smile, lashes dipping, skirting her from top to bottom and then back again.

"Lydia," he muttered in mock concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

The smile widened, his teeth glittering like neon in the dark world of the club.

" _Stiles_ ," the relief that washed over her features made him want to chuckle. It was cute, even if it was pathetic. Lydia was staring at him like she hadn't seen the sun in days and was only now stepping out into the light. The smile that erupted her features ended up confusing him as she flung her arms around him and leapt onto him, her legs immediately wrapping around his waist as she swallowed his lips in a breathtaking kiss. Immediately, his arms flung around her to steady them in a tight, familiar grip.

When she let go, her eyes were wider than ever. "Where - you know what? It doesn't matter right now. I knew you'd come back. I knew you weren't dead. God," she leapt off of him and ran a hand through her hair, pushing away a tear using her thumb.

Lydia stared at him for a few silent seconds, Stiles would have done something, but he was curious to see what she would do next.

Lydia slapped him across the face.

Stiles laughed at the impact. "You deserve that," Lydia simply stated.

"Kinky, are we?" Stiles muttered, smirking. That was when the smile dissipated and she seemed to take a look at him again. He crossed his arms behind his back as he watched her examine him dubiously. When she was done, she took a step back, something alarming and loud in her pupils and in her weakening stance.

 _Will the prey submit and make this an awfully easy catch?_

"You're not Stiles."

"Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner," Stiles smirked again, moistening his upper lip.

Lydia took another step back, her mouth a gaping cave. "Who are you? What happened to him... What did you... What have you done to him? Are you some kind of shape shifter? A... A doppelganger?"

Stiles simply tilted his head, wet his thumb with the tip of his tongue and held it in the air. "What do you hear, Lydia?" he asked her, every syllable enunciated torturously slow. "What does the _banshee_ hear?"

Instantly, her palms flew to her ears, blocking them. "I... I don't know. It's all so loud."

Stiles smiled.

"Now tell me, sweetheart. _Am_ I your boyfriend?"

"No. You're not. You just look like him. Stiles would never..."

He smirked once more, dropping his hand to his side.

"Let me introduce myself. I am the darkest part of Stiles, that fraction of him that he chose to pretend didn't exist. We all have dark inside of us, the incentive to destroy and annihilate. I am that incentive." Stiles took two steps closer to her, his palm wrapping tightly around her wrist as he leaned in closer to speak. Lydia squeezed her eyes shut in disbelief. "Along with this package however, there seems to be this unquenchable desire to have you," he explained. "I guess I can't blame him," he grinned, his grip on her wrist strengthening as she squirmed.

"I mean, to your credit, you are magnificent."

Lydia simply blinked at him, like she was registering words but hearing muffled; like sounds underwater.

"But... To answer your question, I am Stiles, and I'm not him. I'm afraid _your_ Stiles is dead. Or well... He's dying, anyway. So I guess you're just going to have to make do with me."

Stiles grinned once more as a single tear rained down her closed eyelid, sliding down her cheek like a waterfall. He brushed it away with his thumb, using more force than necessary so it pressed into the skin of her cheek so much that it had to hurt.

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering over the top of her ear while his other palm still firmly gripped her wrist. "I'm all that's left of Stiles, sweetheart. And I'm _insatiable_."


	21. Dead Things

**A/N: Review for the sake of my sanity. SERIOUSLY GUYS LET'S TRY AND GET THIS STORY TO 200 REVIEWS COME ON PRETTY PLEASE?**

 **I'LL GET YOU A PET UNICORN?**

 **NOW WILL YOU DO IT?**

 **SLIGHT TRIGGER WARNING: It isn't anything major, but there are implied sexual connotations in the way Void talks to Lydia at certain points in this chapter.**

* * *

 _I will be here_  
 _When you think you're all alone_  
 _Seeping through the cracks_  
 _I'm the poison in your bones_  
 _My love is your disease_  
 _I won't let it set you free_  
 _Til I break you_

* * *

Lydia

 _There's nothing here. Nothing but void and darkness. The empty vessels of eyes, the spirits that roam the underworld, what happens when one is let free? The sun has been swallowed by shadows, there is only darkness now and forever._

 _So much... So much darkness..._

Muffled unfamiliar voices.

 _Lydia. Lydia, I'm so sorry. I don't... I don't know where I am. It's so dark where I am. And cold. I can't... I think I might be dreaming, or sleep walking. Or both. Lydia. Please. Please find me. The city... The city needs me._

 _He's coming! Lydia, hurry! He's coming!_

 _No. NO. NO. No. NO!_

 _Lydia!_

 _What's happening to me?_

 _I'm losing my mind._

A muffled familiar voice.

The voices were heavy, sorrowful choruses, like the sick beat of war drums pounding against her ears, like a thousand screaming souls collaborating in song for her ears only. They were all around her. There was no escape from them - and he was following her. She could feel him watching her. She could feel him behind her back. His footsteps muddled the hissing, foreboding echoes of the shattering whispers in her head.

Lydia's every heartbeat was laced with fear as she dashed out of the club and into the narrow, dank alleyway that led back into the outside world. She had hoped she would've lost him in the sea of people, but he'd found her, somehow, he was connected to her.

 _The string..._

She was thankful that she could run in heels, it was a skill that she'd truly put to the test the second she'd managed to flee from his grip.

The musky night air froze her senses and attacked her nostrils like toxic gas, but she pushed on, every bone in her body telling her to get as far away from Not Stiles as possible. Lydia stumbled, taking a left instead of a right and realizing that there was a dead end towards the left. She'd taken the wrong turn. _Why did every shady club have to be situated in a narrow, dank alleyway?_ Lydia groaned internally, the misstep would come with its consequences, and soon enough she was backing up against a barbed wire fence that she was sure she wouldn't be able to climb up in her party outfit and wedges.

The voices in her head still wouldn't stop.

 _Worse is coming. Something wicked this way. What will you do, Lydia? Will you bring him back? What will you do when the sun isn't upon you? Come to us... Free us... Free him..._

 _LYDIAAA_

 _Shut up. Shut up. Shut up._

There were ghosts everywhere; and the worst one of them all was on her tail and he didn't seem to tire. If Not Stiles had Stiles' superhuman strength, Lydia was in for trouble.

"Aw, Lydia. Come on," Not Stiles muttered irksomely, in a tone that was way too familiar to the Stiles she knew; so much so that her stomach flipped. "You know you can't run from me," he snapped, inching towards her rather slowly, a bit like a tidal wave in slow motion.

He frowned mockingly, his dead eyes dark as the sky that lurked above them. The shadows that surrounded them seemed to leap out at him, bowing to him, shaping him, empowering him.

"You know I wouldn't hurt you, Lydia," he boomed. "At least, not right now," his mouth cracked into a demented half-smile. Lydia had never seen his face more pale. It made him look like a zombie, like... like a dead thing. "It would be a shame to get blood stains on that pretty little outfit. Lucky for you, black swallows red. I admire your choice of color," his eyes skirted her once more, making her so uncomfortable she was afraid to move or breathe.

She took another step back, her back pushing against the cold, prickly barbed wire fence so it felt like a hundred dozen little icicles jabbing into her skin. "Red is your color, though. It suits you. It brings out the banshee inside of you," he was closing the distance between them and all Lydia could do was breathe heavily and await impact. She thought that if it was anyone else, she would've taken them down, but this was Stiles, or at least it was wearing his face, and that was enough to make her body grow weak and unresponsive.

"So, tell me, Lydia. Do you think I can make you scream?" he grinned, his breath no longer smelling like spearmint and salt-water taffy, but like cigarette dust and rotten blood. The hazel of his irises were nearly eclipsed by his pupils. Lydia squeezed her eyes shut once more, she couldn't bear to look at him anymore.

She felt him lean in and wrap his arms around her neck, she stood still; unmoving. She wouldn't give in to him so she held her ground, but felt her heartbeat stutter. Not Stiles leaned in closer, until she felt like the stench of his breath would make her vomit, and then he pressed his cold lips to hers.

Lydia's eyes flew open in shock. He breathed in sharply, a delighted, almost fanatical look on his face that made fear form in her gut along with something else - butterflies? _Really? I can't believe you're feeling butterflies at a time like this._ Maybe they were brought forth everytime he touched her, she wasn't sure.

It was an ominous, ruthless, one-sided gesture. Lydia made sure her lips didn't react to his, unlike the first time in the club where the scent of perfume and alcohol seemed to veil his stench of death and strife. He didn't seem to care that she wasn't kissing him back, or that she wasn't moving much at all, he kissed her for five long, terrifying seconds until he retracted, his mouth hovering by her ear again while one of his hands dipped into her strawberry-blonde curls.

"I guess we'll find out."

Lydia let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding and then he was gone like a flash of lightning. She could feel the bile rising in her throat as fear and worry mixed with sadness all hit her at once. There was a part of her that wished she had been dreaming, and another part of her that was screaming that everything had changed - for the worse.

xxxxx

"Lydia. Breathe, _breathe_. Okay?" Scott insisted, concern dancing behind his kind eyes.

It was in times like these that Lydia came to realize what being a True Alpha really meant, it wasn't how powerful he was, but how compassionate, how selfless he was. It was almost ironic, how what it really took to be a True Alpha was being truly human.

The boy with the dark hair sat her down on his sofa and steadied her shoulders. "Jesus, you're shaking," he muttered, running his palms up and down her shoulders soothingly.

"Allison! Bring a blanket too," Scott called out. Lydia's best friend was by her side within seconds, draping a warm winter shawl over her back and handing her a glass of water. "Drink," she commanded. "All of it."

Lydia nodded as she gulped down the much needed water and took a deep breath, trying to calm her jittering nerves and recede the splitting headache that was quaking her system. After being haunted, stalked, attacked... Lydia wasn't even quite sure how she'd made it to Scott's, she remembered being unable to drive, so she'd left her blue Toyota in the parking lot by the Sinema alley and caught a cab; reciting Scott's address immediately.

Once she got there, she wasn't sure what to say, she wasn't sure they would even believe her.

Allison plopped down next to her and wrapped her arms around the strawberry blonde in a protective, comforting embrace. Scott sat down on his heels and scanned her face. "Lydia, do you think you can tell us exactly what happened?" he quizzed. "More importantly," Allison snapped. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

 _Just emotionally;_ a voice in her head mused.

"No, no. I'm fine. It's not me I'm worried about. I don't care if you guys don't believe me, but I saw him at the club. He was _there_. Alive and breathing. He wasn't himself... but he was alive - well, relatively, anyway," Lydia couldn't keep her voice from cracking.

"His eyes... They were black, they were _so_ black. It was like there was nothing inside of him... He was so lifeless, he was a monster. I can still feel his breath on my face..." Lydia closed her eyes. It was like there was something playing a round of Kick-The-Lydia in her stomach.

"He told me... He told me that Stiles is dying," she went on.

"I don't know what he's done to him. Stern. He's... I'm sure of it now. He's done something to him. All this quiet... It was on purpose. It was all a trick. It was an elaborate ruse. Oh. Something's going to happen. Something monumental. I can _feel_ it..."

"What?" Allison asked. "What can you feel, Lydia?"

"Death." She muttered simply, her eyes wide as moon slices. "Death everywhere."

Scott frowned. "You're not making a lot of sense right now, Lydia. We haven't seen Stiles in ages, and as much as I would like to believe -"

"It wasn't Stiles! It was just a dead thing that looked like him. I... I should've known. I'd seen the destruction in my dreams... _No_ , they weren't dreams. They were premonitions. I'm sure of it now."

Scott bit his lip, exchanging a weary look with Allison. "How can you be so sure?"

"I saw him standing there by the dead-end, with eyes that flashed obsidian. That was in a dream. And then... It happened again, like déjà-vu, like I'd already seen this event unfold..."

Scott glanced dubiously at Allison again, who simply shrugged. "I think we should take this seriously. I've never seen Lydia so shaken up before, and let's not forget she's not a psychic, she's a banshee. She usually predicts death, which isn't really a good sign for Stiles right now," she rationalized.

Scott nodded, Lydia could tell there were two sides warring inside his head, but she didn't care, all she kept seeing was this dark, twisted shell of Stiles, inching towards her everytime she closed her eyes, and the tears spilled. Lydia hated crying in front of people, but there was nothing to keep the tears away now.

"Hey, hey," Allison muttered gently, running her hands up and down Lydia's back in calming circles. Lydia dropped her head on her friend's shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut as tight as she could to fight the tears off. Allison smelt like watermelon lip gloss and moisturizer. "We'll figure this out. We'll save Stiles. I promise," she said.

Scott's cell phone cut through the silence of her sobs. "I'll be right back," Scott stood up and sauntered over to his bedroom to answer the phone while Allison continued to mutter soothing things to her best friend.

"Lydia," Allison said. "Lydia, _look_ at me," when Lydia didn't respond, she pushed her back gently and yanked her chin up with her fingers so they were facing each other.

"I'm sorry," she said, surprising her. "I'm sorry we didn't believe you earlier, we should have. _I_ should have."

Lydia managed a small smile despite the burning inside her chest. "And I'm sorry I've been rough on you. These past few weeks -"

"Have been extremely hard on you, and I should have been more sensitive to that. Scott's been having so much trouble dealing, I should've known it would be like that for you, too."

Lydia was quiet, but she nodded curtly. It felt good to make amends with her best friend, even if they hadn't really been fighting. Lydia needed her now more than ever. She was insanely lucky to have someone as amazing as Allison as her best friend, and she could never imagine losing that.

"Stiles helped save my life, in fact, he's saved countless lives since he began his crusade, and that means we'll be doing everything in our power to save _his_ life. I'll go to any lengths. No matter what the risks. No matter what the cost."

Lydia shook her head. "I don't want you putting yourself in harm's way. He wouldn't want that either."

"I don't care. The both of you are just gonna have to deal with not getting what you want."

Lydia mustered another smile. Allison sighed, there was something empathetic in her expression, "I can see how much you love him. It burns in your eyes, it lights you up. It's that conviction that keeps you going. You would rearrange the stars for him, and that kind of love, that's rare." Allison's gaze darted towards the bedroom where Scott was still on the phone. "And from my personal experience, it's the one most worth fighting for."

It was rather shocking to hear what Lydia had with Stiles be put into words from someone else's perspective. She wondered when it had gotten this intense. Maybe it had happened the first time their lips had met, or that night at the motel, or when they'd sat up on her roof with 5 am air on their skin talking about everything and nothing. Or perhaps there'd always been a part of her that was in love with him, and she'd just never known it until now.

Lydia sighed, dabbing stray tears away. "You're right."

"We'll make it in the end. Even if it's us against the world. We always make it in the end."

They embraced once more until Scott came out, despair washing over his features like cloud cover taking over clear skies. "Uh, guys," he muttered carefully. "That was just Derek," he explained.

"And...?" Allison asked, raising an eyebrow.

"And you have to see this."

He snagged the remote off the glass table in the middle of the living room and turned on the television, what they saw had them all stunned.

"After an entire month of absentee, Spiderman seems to have returned to the city but he seems to be a little... different, than we last recall. Instead of saving lives, he's wreaking havoc along with a couple of other strange accomplices who can only be described as silhouettes that are very bright and very dark at the same time... Witnesses say they spotted Spiderman in a purely black spandex outfit that mirrored his old red-blue one to a tee. He was sighted about fifteen minutes ago making an announcement at Grand Central Station, um, we have gathered some live footage uploaded merely moments ago on every social networking website imaginable. Let's check it out," said the blonde television reporter on the screen.

The scene shifted to a video clip of a Spiderman clad in black standing in the midst of Grand Central Station. "Do you guys like my new outfit? I've gotta tell you, I think black's my color." He blithered on ridiculously. "Spidey's making an official statement that he's done aiding your ungrateful asses and wants to have a little bit of fun," he went on. "Oh. Wait... I should get to the point. Right. There's a bomb in three distinct locations of the main city area and this may or may not be one of our targets," after that there was just tons of scrambled panicking and the police came onto the scene, shooting right at him and leading the hoards of people out of the area simultaneously

"No bombs have gone off as yet, but the whole city is on alert due to the direct and very real threat. Folks are advised to stay out of all popular, public areas. Bomb squads and SWAT teams are being sent out right away and local landmarks are being secured. Spiderman has gotten away from the police and has possibly gone into hiding. The FBI are putting out an APB on him and he's now being labeled as a wanted criminal - he _is_ considered armed and dangerous and the police are issuing a shoot-on-sight statement for his shocking monologue at Grand Central Station - which is being considered as an open confession. Sources say that Spiderman is not working alone and APBs are also going out on the following criminals -"

Lydia snatched the remote from Scott and switched it off. "I couldn't listen to that anymore," she snapped, in a way of explanation. Allison stared wide-eyed into her smartphone. "Twitter is blowing up with Spiderman hate, oh my god. What do we do? That's still Stiles, right? Somewhere in there?"

"It has to be," Scott said. "I don't know what they did to him. I don't know if they brainwashed him, but I _know_ my best friend. Stiles would never consciously do something like that... We have to help him."

"How?" Lydia felt her voice crack and her stomach droop. "They're permitting shooting him on sight!"

"We'll just have to get to him first," Scott decided. "Yeah because it looks like we could totally negotiate with him right now," Allison mumbled sarcastically. "We have to kidnap him," Lydia said, catching on. She looked to Scott for affirmation, he nodded.

Allison gaped at them both. "You aren't serious..."

"It's the only way,"

Allison took a deep breath and shook her head. "I have a feeling I'm going to regret this but I made a promise so okay - alright. We're gonna kidnap a sociopathic, brainwashed, superpowered criminal. Nothing could go wrong there. It'll be cake."

"If we don't, they'll kill him and we'll never know -"

"I don't think they'll get their hands on him that easily. Stiles is really smart, and.. even if he isn't himself, whatever's controlling him probably still thinks like him." Lydia reasoned.

"You're right - and who knows his brain better than you, Lyd?" said Allison.

"You two are weirdly the same person on an intellectual level," Scott pointed out, agreeing.

Before Lydia could counter that, her phone began buzzing. "Oh, gosh," she muttered. "It's John Stilinski"

Lydia extended her arm to Scott. "Talk to him,"

The brown haired boy widened his eyes. "What? _No_! _You_ talk."

"What do I say? Hello, Sir. Congratulations. Your son's a wanted fugitive and he's getting very close to becoming a killer but don't worry - we're on our way to kidnap him. Good day!" Lydia reasoned sarcastically.

"Just... Tell him we've got it under control," Scott mumbled. "You do it." Lydia insisted.

Allison rolled her eyes and snatched the phone. "You're both idiots," she said. "The man's probably freaked out of his mind. He needs someone to keep his blood pressure from rising. He's a grieving father, all he needs is a little bit of reassurance."

She picked up the call. "Hi, Mr. Stilinski. It's Allison here. Mhmm. Yeah. About that... It isn't Stiles, but we think whoever it is has him in their custody. Yeah. No. Scott assured me..."

"Yeah," Scott muttered under his breath. "Blame it on the werewolf."

"I swear it's not him. We can. We can find your son - but we'll need a little bit of help. You have to make sure the police stay off his trail, he won't be much use to us dead and we need him to give up Stiles' location. Do you have the bomb situation under control or do I send - Okay. That's good news. Yeah... Alright, well... we're also gonna need you to give us access to a couple of files, we - we think Stiles was onto something with his investigation before he disappeared. Yeah. Yup. We will. I promise," she said. "Great. We'll get back to you as soon as we can."

Lydia and Scott both stared at Allison in mystified awe as she snapped the phone off and tossed it back to Lydia. "What if we can't -"

"Sometimes you've gotta lie to people for the sake of their own benefit," she snapped simply.

"Most of the stuff I said weren't exactly lies anyway. Let's go find him and make sure things stay that way."

xxxxx

Stiles

She was so bloody gorgeous. She was sculpted like a girl in a Greek painting.

Stiles ran his fingers down one of the many pictures of her he'd taken this past month and stuck it up onto his pin board in the dank little room of Stern's mansion around the outskirts of New York. He'd done as the man had asked, there was a flurry of angry police men out on his tail, and Stern and his mates were hell bent on destroying every one of them. Stiles didn't quite care for the killing, although it would be amusing to watch. Stiles wanted the girl. There was a lot he wanted to do to her before he ended her life. He would take it slow - painfully slow and the end result would be worth the wait. There was a part of him that knew he could've had it easy. He could've pretended to be the pesky awkward boy who'd somehow managed to steal her heart and done with her as he pleased - but he had a code of conduct and he despised liars.

If he was going to take her, he was going to be honest about what he was and what he was capable of. Plus, there was just something arousing about the pure unadulterated terror in her eyes. His eyes darted towards the black spandex outfit that lay upon the bed; made to be a shadow version of the flashy red and blue one the kid used to wear. Stern and his superpowered friends were out making the city their bitch, and he was stuck indoors. He didn't like being contained. He didn't like feeling imprisoned. It suffocated him. He had to get out.

He glanced at his own reflection in the mirror. This body was getting weaker by the day, the dark circles under his amber eyes now popped out at the onlooker like ghosts, his hair had taken on a life of its own, his cheeks were devoid of color. The blank sheet paleness of his skin made the bruises across it seem showcased for the world to see. It was a terrible, menacing look.

Stiles just needed a little more time and then he was sure he'd begin resembling a corpse. He would exploit that dumb, coward of a kid until there was nothing left of him but dust. He'd simply have to sustain himself until he had her because the torment still drove him nuts. God! It would drive him mad.

Stern often said that love was a disease, Stiles had to agree. It was a bitter, rancid disease and it had to be treated. Lydia Martin walked and laughed and danced tauntingly in his dreams, with her dragon fire breath and matching hair, those twinkling twilight eyes, those ruby rose lips... she wanted to eat him alive. It made the ribs in his chest feel heavy. It made him want to tear her apart limb from limb.

He would have her, and then he would kill her.

It was the only way to get rid of this plague disguised as a woman.

Stiles decided he wouldn't stay cooped up in this stiflingly small room any longer. He didn't care if Stern wouldn't be pleased, he didn't take orders from anyone anymore. He would wreck a little chaos of his own across the pretty city, play a quick game of hide and seek with his favorite worst nightmare, and be back in time for supper and a hot shower.


	22. Chaos Is Come Again

**A/N: OMG I AM SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING FOR SOOOOO LONG. Long story short I lost a whole lot of data, and all of my upcoming chapters, just because I didn't want to abandon this story and leave it unfinished I am rewriting all of the chapters that I lost so that I can finish it. I hope I haven't lost you guys. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE in the honour of the return of Black Webs, write me a nice review, I've been feeling very down lately, I tried so hard to get my data back, I gave it to two separate computer guys to recover, to no avail. I need your kind words to encourage me again.**

 **I'm literally rewriting this for you. I hope it's satisfactory. I'll be honest, my chapters aren't as great as they'd been, because this is a rewritten version, a lot of events were recreated by memory. Hopefully, it's still promising content.**

 **SLIGHT TRIGGER WARNING: It isn't anything major, but there are implied sexual connotations in the way Void talks to Lydia at certain points in this chapter.**

 **Review. Please. Thank you. And here we go again!**

* * *

 _Though I'm weak and beaten down,  
I'll slip away into this sound,  
the ghost of you is close to me,  
I'm inside-out, you're underneath._

* * *

Lydia

"Where do we find one demented Stiles Stilinski in a giant city?" Allison questioned, to nobody in particular, as she grabbed her coat off the stand.

"We can start by tracking his scent," suggested Lydia. "I mean psycho or not Scott's werewolf senses should lead us straight to him. Please tell me Stiles has left something of his at your house in that clumsy and absentminded Stiles way he always does?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at the brown-haired boy, who broke into a grin. "Several somethings, actually," he said, skipping into his bedroom to go grab it.

Scott returned with a dark blue jacket, it looked like the identical twin of the red jacket Stiles would always wear, only in a different color. "This should do," he said. "All aboard the Mystery Machine!" he announced goofily as they strode towards Allison's car.

They drove aimlessly for two and a half hours. Scott kept trying, but to no avail. Maybe this had been a dumb idea all along; after all, the last time Lydia had taken a whiff of Not So Stiles Stilinski, he'd reeked of blood and death rather than of salt water taffy and mints. Eventually, when it was obvious they had to give up; Allison shot her best friend a side-glance. The strawberry-blonde's eyes were trained on the sea of taillights in front of them; their red lights glinting, casting her entire face in a vermilion hue. Lydia was aware that she probably looked lost. She felt lost. Her stomach was blowing up, and her heart had melted into candle wax.

If the police got to him before they did, someone was going to get hurt; and Lydia, almost selfishly, didn't want Stiles to be the one who did; despite the fact that he was more soulless demon and less teenage boy at the moment. What broke Lydia the most was the fact that his legacy was crumbling into ashes and sawdust and there was nothing she could do about it, Spiderman had been something beautiful, something noble, and now he was going to be a fugitive who helped destroy New York City. Allison wrapped an arm around Lydia's shoulder, while Scott drove and cursed, and drove, and cursed, and cursed a little more.

"Stupid freaking traffic! And… And, stupid freaking Stiles. You know, evil or not, he always knows how to spin himself into a web of trouble pun not intended. Do you guys want me to step out and try again?" Lydia sighed. "We should go home," she said.

Both Allison and Scott turned to gape at her.

"We should go home," she echoed. "It's almost two am, and you're both exhausted, and so am I. We can continue the search party tomorrow; we could even call Derek and his pack. It's not giving up." She explained. "Are you sure?" Allison asked. Lydia was sick of being treated like she was made of brittle glass, like she would come crashing down in shards if they said anything to her that might sting.

Lydia felt something between her ribcage burn. Scott, unlike her best-friend-with-noble-intentions, got the message, and turned the car around. Allison's cinnamon cider eyes were still blinking in resignation, waiting for an answer.

"It's not giving up," Lydia repeated, weakly.

xxxxx

Lydia woke up to swarming darkness and a monster at the foot of her bed.

It was too dark to be dawn as yet, and the windows only spilled moonlight swirled with oblivion. Lydia could discern the silhouettes of furniture, but everything else was black, as if she was striving to blink the charcoal out of her eyes. It felt cold, frigid; even. Every nerve in her body froze, and the hair at the back of her neck was standing on end like electro-convulsive. Her heart was buried in a maze, and her mind tipped like an ice berg.

She could hear breathing.

"Stiles," she said, in a low voice.

She wasn't sure how he'd gotten in with Allison and Scott sleeping in the living room outside since they had predicted something like this would happen, that Stiles would find them before they could find him; plus, Lydia's mom was out of town on a business trip for the weekend, and Allison proclaimed she didn't feel comfortable leaving Lydia alone after what happened at the club. Not Stiles broke into an insidious grin, one that ran over her like a bulldozer; his teeth were a streak of shiny white in the brewing dark. "You look beautiful when you're asleep," he said, every word was delivered like it had spikes attached to it. "I love the way your flaming hair fan out across your pillow, the way your lips are the color of blood in the right light."

"Stiles," she repeated. "You're… You're scaring me,"

"Am I?" he raised an eyebrow like a sword. He took a step closer, and Lydia was sure she was going to flat line for a couple of minutes. "I'm sorry," his voice actually cracked, and he ran a hand over his wildforest hair. "I didn't mean to," he added. "Or… Maybe I did?" he frowned. "I can't tell what's up and what's down anymore."

Lydia simply blinked, but she felt like there were stones stuck in her throat. _I will not be scared. I will not be scared. I will not be scared_. "What do you want? Why are you here?" she managed. Not Stiles bit his lower lip and pretended to consider her questions. "I want a lot of things, the annihilation of this twinkling abode you call home, to finally tick off decapitating someone on my bucket list, and you, of course. I think I want you the most," he leaned in; his dark eyes were wide with intrigue as he wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger and blew at it. Lydia shuddered, every breath was a gasp. With his other hand, he stroked her upper cheek using his knuckles; his skin was corpse-cold. It was like kissing death. "You want to kill me," she acknowledged.

"Only because it hurts," he reasoned, "I think it's only fair to make the pain go away."

Lydia pursed her lips, suddenly curious. "You feel pain?" she questioned. "I was under the impression that you don't feel anything," she added. Not Stiles chuckled dryly. "I'm numb mostly – like paralysis, but I do still ache and I _hate_ it."

"Stiles, look at me," she said. Not Stiles met her eyes; lightning piercing fog. "Do you remember the night you promised you'd be with me, even at the end of the world?" she asked, delusionally hopeful. "Or that afternoon it was raining and we were tripping on coffee and each other?" she went on. "Don't you remember that you would do anything for Scott McCall, the boy who's always been at your side? Don't you remember how you got home early every night just to make something for your dad to eat after an exhausting day at work?" she prodded. "Don't you remember what it felt like? You _retain_ the memories, don't you?"

"I remember," nodded Not Stiles.

"Tell me, is there any part of you that's still here?" she knew she sounded almost desperate; Not Stiles dropped both his hands. "If there is, we… We can help you," she insisted. "We can take the pain away."

Not Stiles blinked. "You didn't let me finish. I remember, and it makes me _sick_ to my stomach."

Not Stiles' face darkened, like the side of the moon where shadows reside, like thunder clouds swallowing the sun. "All those nasty emotions, now _that_ was a hundred times more tragic than my condition right now. Humans are such self-loathing creatures, in love with the suffering and the torment and the pain. You all are, you love even though it breaks you and you care and hope and dream even though you're all going to lose everything someday, even though everything you ever achieve will eventually fade to ashes in your wake. I mean… It's anti-climactic for crying out loud! So you can sit there accusing me of being a monster with your holier-than-thou attitudes, but the brutal truth is, you're all the same; getting off on the agony. You're all just like me," he said, voice ablaze, making Lydia want to coil into a shell and hide.

"Plus – taking the pain away, what would be the fun in that?" he moaned, a shark-tooth smile emerging. He leaned in closer, until their noses touched, until she could taste his toxic breath on her tongue like acid, and his other palm fisted around her neck. Lydia let out a breath.

"You're all diseased, and I'm part of the cure. I want to toy with you, show you what it's like to feel real pain, and then, I want to decorate this city with your bones." He said, voice thick and coated in arsenic. "I enjoy destroying the beauty in things, and I will _thoroughly_ enjoy you," he said, gloating. Lydia felt fire rise up her throat like bile. "Alright," she muttered, raising her chin slightly over his death grip. "I'll give you whatever you need. You won't even have to fight for it. But first, come closer, I have to tell you something," she had his attention; he looked amused.

If only she could keep things that way, she could try and make a run for it, or let out a scream that alerted her friends. "But I like it when they fight me," he muttered petulantly; somehow managing to look like a devil kid possessed from a horror movie, and a cobra prepping for the sting at the same time. "I like it when they run, and scream, and weep," he grinned, listing his highs with a creepy pleasure and precision. And yet, he inched closer, so his winter worn lips almost brushed hers – almost. Lydia then dropped her gaze and ran a manicured fingertip over his upper ear.

"Go back to the hell you came from."

That pissed him off.

"You'll pay for that," he growled, his grip around her neck tightening like mold. "You _disgust_ me," she spat. Lydia had learned her lesson, she would do whatever she could to get the Stiles she knew back, but this was not the Stiles she knew. And if she'd thought for even a moment that it could be, that there was still a part of this horrible, rotten thing that could be saved, she'd been wrong; and naïve. It was a moment of weakness, and she wouldn't let it happen again. Lydia let out a muffled scream before Not Stiles tried to wrestle her to the floor. Instantly, Allison and Scott were at the doorway.

Scott was growling, his fangs showcased, his wolf eyes frenzied and prepared for chaos. Allison had her bowstring pointed right at Not Stiles' chest. "Get your hands off of my best friend," she said, a threat in her tone. Not Stiles' raised his hands in surrender, but he didn't look afraid, only exhilarated. "I love it; Scotty's here, Ali's here. I think this calls for a reunion party, what do you think, love?" he said, addressing Lydia, who glared at him with spite and distaste.

Allison shot him. Once, and then twice; and Not Stiles' crumpled to an unconscious heap on the floor. Scott looked impressed, Lydia simply stared. "He's not dead, right?"

"Of course not. It's the paralyzing poison I lace my arrows with."

Scott's face morphed back into his semi-regular Scott features and he rushed over to her, grabbing her shoulders. "Lydia, are you hurt?" he asked. Lydia scoffed, _only emotionally_ , she thought. "Why didn't you alert us sooner?" he asked. Allison joined Scott by her side. "Never do that again," she snapped, in her commanding I'm-The-Boss-Around-Here voice. "Do you understand me?"

"I'm sorry," Lydia muttered, glancing at the unconscious boy with the poisoned heart on the floor. "I was stupid, I'm sorry."

"You sure you're going to be okay?" they asked in unison. "I don't know," she replied, in honesty. Allison sighed, Scott kicked the wall like everything that had happened was its fault, and then Lydia stood up.

"I'm assuming you're going to need help hauling him into the living room and tying him up?"

"What do you think we'll need to restrain him?"

"Preferably, an air tight double-steel cage, a chainsaw, metal railings that also have in-built laser sensors in case our prisoner feels like going for a picnic, and a piranha tank. Realistically, a chair, our werewolf-proof steel chains and loads and loads of duct tape," estimated Scott.

"You watch too many James Bond movies," snapped Allison. "I'll get the duct tape," said Lydia.

It took a while, but they finally had him. Not Stiles was still unconscious, but he was now tied to a wooden chair in the middle of Lydia's living room. He was swathed in steel chains, his wrists and feet were gagged, and so was his mouth, with the aforementioned duct tape.

"If you do plan on beating the answers out of him, try not to get bloodstains on my mother's precious cashmere carpet," Lydia advised, making herself a drink because she was only sure of a single thing at the moment, and it was that she needed to be intoxicated for the subsequent portion of the night. "Shouldn't he be up by now? It's been an hour," Scott muttered to Allison, who looked to be admiring her handy work with the chains and the gags. "He should wake up any second now," she mused.

"Lydia," she said, turning around to notice Lydia gulping down red wine straight from the bottle. "I think we need you sentient right now," she chided. "I'll be fine," grumbled Lydia.

"Good morning," came a voice from behind them, that made everyone stop in their tracks and fall deadly silent. "I don't appreciate being put to sleep like a dog, but that was some tasty poison, I'll give you that," he said, eyeing Allison now. "How long did you say the paralysis lasts, Ali?" Scott murmured, anxious. "Approximately five hours," she replied. "Good."

Scott stomped over and punched Not Stiles in the jaw, and then once again, this time, in the stomach, and then against cheekbone. Bone met bone. Blood curdled. It was the warring sound of violence and languish, something that reminded Lydia of stubbed toes and splinters. Lydia took another big sip of wine. "Can I have some?" Not Stiles asked, licking blood off his lower lip and smiling at Lydia from across the room. It was terrifying, even though Scott and Ali were with them, and Stiles was on the other side, she still felt like every time their eyes met, they were the only two people in the room.

"No you may not," she responded smoothly. _I will not be scared. I will not be scared. I will not be scared_. "You're going to start answering our questions now and if you don't, I'm going to keep hitting you, or perhaps Ali will get impatient and strike you with a fatal arrow this time."

Not Stiles laughed maliciously. "You won't permanently damage this body, I'm wearing the face of your best friend," he looked to both Allison and Scott, "and the boy you've been in love with before you even knew it." Now he was eyeing Lydia, who took another swing and felt her stomach lurch unsettlingly. "Did you just admit that you're not him?"

Not Stiles shrugged. "You shouldn't believe everything that comes out of a devil's mouth," he said, his words slithering like snakes up their spines. Scott's fangs rejoined the party and he leaned in close, his eyes ringed in flames. "We're not here to play games. Now answer me. Who are you and where is the real Stiles Stilinski? And does Stern or Wolfram & Hart have something to do with your condition?" he asked.

Not Stiles was quiet for a few moments, his grasshopper gaze pouncing from one person in the room to the other, he always lingered on Lydia the longest. "You know, Scotty, you were right to always feel inferior to Stiles; he never did give you the credit you truly deserve. He was always using you, treating you like a footnote in his own grand story. It must feel sickening; to be treated by someone you thought was your friend in that way. I don't get why you even care about the bastard after everything he's put you through," he said.

This blew Scott's fuse, who consequently tried to lunge at Not Stiles and bite his nose off at the same time. Allison leaped in and restrained him, peeling him off the dead boy. "Don't you see what he's doing, Scott? He's trying to get in to your head! He's doing this on purpose because he knows all of your weaknesses! Don't let him get to you. Don't give him exactly what he wants," she reasoned. Sometimes, Lydia thought, Allison was a brave creature, like a new born butterfly or a firefighter. And in that light, with her short, brunette hair framing her face, and her cheeks flushed and her pupils' wild, she reminded Lydia of the moon goddess Artemis; who also happened to be a huntress and an archer.

Scott sighed, running his hands through his hair and pacing the length of the room, Allison merely let out a breath and then grabbed Not Stiles by the chin, he tried to bite her finger, but she poked him in the eye. Not Stiles doubled back and groaned. "You know what. I'm going to find out whether you're really capable of killing me," he said. Before any of them could even react, Not Stiles leaned all his weight on the chair, causing it to topple to the ground, as it did, the chains tightened around his neck and began to choke the life out of him. Lydia shrieked and rushed towards him, forgetting all about the wine. Allison and Scott followed suit.

Stiles' entire face was blue, his stomach rose and fell cataclysmically, and he was gasping for breath. "Oh, my god, it's going to kill him!" Lydia exclaimed. Allison grabbed one side of the chair, Scott grabbed the other, and together, they yanked it back up and loosened the chains that had fastened themselves like leeches around his neck. Not Stiles' either didn't feel the physical pain, or didn't react to it, because despite the marks around his neck and the heaving of his chest, he was smiling again in that maniacal way familiar to him. "I told you," he said. "You can't kill me."

"Maybe he needs a freaking exorcism," snapped Scott, tetchily.

Not Stiles was still grinning, he was watching Lydia again, who looked away. She couldn't bear to look at him anymore; he always seemed more dead than alive. "Here's a dealio for you," he said. "I'll answer your questions, if you can answer my riddles,"

"We're not going to waste our time with your stupid tongue twisters," Allison snapped, while Lydia said, "okay," at the same time. Two pairs of eyes glared judgmentally at her. "I'm an ace at riddles," Lydia reasoned. "If he wants to play, I'll give him a game,"

"How do we know you'll keep your promise?" asked Scott, crossing his arms over his chest. "I guess you'll just have to risk it and take me for my word." Responded Not Stiles, tilting his head slightly. Scott groaned and turned to Allison for confirmation. "It's the most we've gotten from him in a while; we might as well give it a go. If things go south, he's still incapable of lifting anything except his head."

Lydia took a seat on the couch facing him and nodded. "We're on."

Not Stiles nodded, he looked like a blood-splattered knife, an alien from another world.

"Riddles it is. Whoever misses one first, loses. If you lose, I'm free to go, and if I lose, I'll tell you whatever you want. Sound fair?" he arched an eyebrow.

"Absolutely not," muttered Scott. "I won't lose," Lydia assured. Allison sighed and dropped down on the couch adjacent, Scott stood guard like he was afraid Not Stiles would somehow burst free of his chains and skip out the door.

"My turn first. What can run but never walks, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps?"

Lydia smiled lightly, like he was going easy on her. "A _river_ ," she replied.

"My turn," said Lydia. "What goes around the world but stays in a corner?" she asked.

"A stamp," replied Not Stiles. "I have holes in my top and bottom, my left and right, and in the middle. But still I hold water. What am I?"

 _Another easy one_.

"A sponge. What does the rich man need, what does the blind see, and what does the dead eat?" she questioned. "Nothing. You throw away the outside and cook the inside," he began again. That one was slightly tougher, Lydia took a couple of minutes to rummage, and then it hit her. "Corn!"

"No sooner spoken than broken. What is it?"

"Silence. A woman was disgusted to find a fly in her tea. She told the waiter to bring her a fresh cup. When he did, she said it was the same tea. How did she know?"

"Sugar," replied Lydia. "What gets bigger the more you take away?"

"A hole. What gets wetter the more it dries?"

"A towel. When is a door not a door?"

"When it's ajar."

"What kind of room has no doors or no windows?"

"A mushroom. If you have me, you want to share me. If you share me, you haven't got me. What am I?"

"A secret."

This went on until Allison and Scott were ready to peel off their own faces and pull out their own hair. Lydia was almost enjoying it; the twisted menace of it all.

"What will happen to your friends when I break free?"

Lydia opened her mouth, and then closed it. Her heart sped up in her chest. "That's – not a riddle," Not Stiles smirked.

"To answer your first question. Who am I? I am void, I am the very seams of nothingness, I am the shadows that lurk in darkened corners, I am the sun that sleeps and the children who scream on moonless nights."

And then, to everyone's astonishment, Void yanked free of the chains, perhaps that's what he'd been working on while they'd been wasting time with the stupid riddles, and lunged, first at Scott, who tried to attack him, and it was a fair fight for about 0.2 seconds until he overpowered him, and sent him hurtling into a cupboard on the other side of the room. Scott's head met wall with a sickening crack. Allison dived at him, but he yanked one of her arrows out of his thigh and jammed it in her shoulder, she dropped to the ground, Lydia blinked and there was blood.

"Oh, and one more thing," smiled Void. "I'm also a trickster. I'll fool _everyone_."

She wanted to help her friends, make sure they were okay, but Void was inching right towards her. She began to back away, and kept walking backwards until she felt the cool wall against her spine. Lydia's breath came in shudders. "I sincerely hope your intelligence is directly proportional to how fast you can run, if not, you better make a sprint for it. I'll give you a head start," he said. Lydia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to recall one of the techniques Stiles had shown her when she'd been learning how to fight. It was a fly kick that usually, at least temporarily, made the attacker falter. Lydia made her move, she landed her shot right against his chest and he groaned in pain, she sped out the door and into the frosty blue night.

The air was biting at her skin, her hair flapped in the wind behind her, leaving trails of rose gold, her feet burned. The moon hung low and large, visible between a mosaic of tree branches, there were a few stars, but mostly a monopoly of clouds. For once, Lydia was not feeling too good about living away from the city's hustle; it was because she lived in the heart of this isolated and quiet neighborhood that she was having so much trouble getting away from Void.

Everything here was dead; the moonlight-drenched roads were barren, the lights in most houses shut off, it was a realm of shadows. If she'd lived near the city, she could've escaped Void Stiles easily, losing him in the sea of people and street lights and billboards. This ghost avenue that once felt welcoming now felt sinister. The trees looked to be extending their arms to grab her and devour her; the moon itself was grimacing at her plight, and the temperature too felt like it was lower than usual. Lydia thought she lost him around a corner, but then she heard his low whistling, and caught sight of the tips of his hair; turned silver in the street lamp light.

He wasn't even chasing her, not really, more like following her. He was merely walking instead of running, with his hands wrapped behind his back, and a slight skip in his step, as if he was on a casual jaunt. Lydia picked up her pace.

 _Run. Keep running. Don't look back. Don't think of him breathing down your neck_. She could feel her heart in her throat, and everything was static. Sweat was shining against her forehead, and her feet felt like they were going to be very bruised later on. The sidewalks themselves felt slippery as ice, as if they wanted her to fall and break a rib. The wolf moon still pouted, like she was tired of their earthly woes. Void Stiles was an active volcano. Lydia felt like the dumb blonde who always got killed in monster movies.

She would not be the dumb blonde.

"You know, you can't keep running forever," he said, in a sing-song voice.

Lydia didn't listen, she kept going. An owl swooped overhead, its eyes twinkling rhinestones. She stopped to catch her breath under a tree in a pool of shadows, she held her knees and panted, but she could still hear Void, echoing like thunder, a din of bombs.

"The goosechase has been fun, hasn't it?" he said. "But I'm afraid our time's up now," he went on. "Submit or I'll subvert," he said, calmly.

Lydia stepped out of the safety of the shadows, but she began to back away from him again. "Haven't you had enough?"

"Oh, sweetheart, I'll never have enough. I'll be there at every turn. I'll overthrow you, and I'll sabotage you. You can't get rid of me. So why break a sweat in a losing battle?" he growled.

Lydia began to run again, but she slipped on a rock and fell. The sidewalks really were out to get her. She felt she would drop dead like a fly, and the next thing she knew, Void Stiles had cornered her, once again successful in getting under her skin and breaking her spirit.

She was helpless.

"I'm sorry," she whispered under her breath, to an invisible ghost Stiles who might be listening.

"I promise this won't hurt," said Void, running a hand down her cheek. It was like another taste of death. "Okay," he reconsidered. "Maybe I lied."

He hit her with something hard, maybe it was his own fist, she wasn't sure, but after that she was falling, falling, falling into the darkness.

The last thing she heard was a whispered threat: _chaos is come again._

xxxxx

Lydia opened her eyes to her own face, or several of her own images.

It was a board full of pictures of her, at the club, at school, in her bedroom sleeping. Lydia thought she would actually throw up. She realized that she was tied to a chair, just like he had been, her wrists and feet were gagged, but she was free to speak. She felt something warm run down the side of her forehead. She was probably bleeding.

Lydia tried to gain her bearings; she was in a dull room that had all the personality of a hospital, except for that awful pin board. There was a single steel bed, like one you might find at a prison, wooden floorboards and big glass windows that painted the city skyline. Lydia winced when she caught sight of one of the buildings unfurling smoke in the distance, all it's lights flickering. A door in front of her led to what she presumed was either a bathroom or a walk-in closet, and another door, which probably led outside to the living room, was latched shut towards her right.

The walls were ghastly and pale, everything in this room felt like wilted flowers and broken windows. Everything felt emaciated, and stolen of its light. Lydia couldn't believe how disgusting and terrifying Void was. What would he do with her? Lydia looked down to find her iPhone next to her: broken into a million little pieces. Her entire being felt pierced and deflated.

She could hear running water coming from the door in front, definitely a bathroom. Two minutes later, Void Stiles sauntered out. He smirked at her, "Oh, great. You're up. I'm sorry about knocking you out, by the way. But I wanted to make it easy, so I feel like I might've actually done you a favor, considering you're so hell bent on making everything difficult for yourself. Don't you think?" he muttered.

Void's hair was still wet from a shower, so he tried to dry it out with a towel. He was shirtless, and little droplets of water still spiralled down his torso. Lydia would not look at his chest, or his toned stomach. She would not. No matter how much Lusty Lydia wanted to come out to play, Lusty Lydia had like zero brain cells, and she didn't care about good or evil, all she cared about was sex. Void didn't bother putting on a shirt once he'd finished drying his hair; he tossed the towel at the bed and turned to glance at himself in a full-body mirror by the bathroom door.

"I remember how much you like this," he said, whirling around to smile tauntingly at her, running a careful hand down his stomach towards his… Lydia looked away. "You were a wild one," he said, sticking the tip of his tongue out at her, mockingly.

"You're a revolting son of a bitch, you know that?" she spat.

"Language, honey," he muttered.

Void's eyes followed her gaze despite his comment. "So you were admiring my board. Its artwork, isn't it? Beautiful," he grinned. "Say cheese!" and he took another snapshot of her using his phone, Lydia shot him the finger. "It's too bad Stiles really is dying, and I'm going to make sure there's nothing left of him but dust," he said. "My friends and I assure you the same once we beat you, and we will."

"Overconfident and narcissistic," he noted. "Those are some ugly traits you've got there."

He crouched down next to her again and leaned in to kiss her, she head-butted him. "That wasn't very nice," he said, pressing his head. "What do you plan to do with me?" she asked, not revealing how absolutely terrified she actually was.

Void sneered, "Everything."

And just as he leaned in again, they heard a loud thumping noise like a body hitting the floor, and a resonation of footsteps. Void scowled, annoyed. "I'll be right back, darling," he said. "Someone's begging to get killed outside."

He stomped out of the room, leaving the door ajar. Lydia, thinking quick, tried to grab a safety pin that she'd wedged in her spaghetti top underneath her lace sweater, only she didn't have to, because someone had kicked the door wide open, and then he was rushing towards her and freeing her from her chains.

Derek Hale grabbed her by the shoulders. "Let's get you out of here, shall we?" he said.


	23. Goners

**A/N: Review, Review, Review! This was a quick update.**

* * *

 _In the winter night sky ships are sailing,_  
 _looking down on these bright blue city lights._  
 _And they won't wait, and they won't wait,_  
 _and they won't wait._

* * *

Lydia

Lydia almost couldn't believe it, so instead of getting the hell out of dodge, she just sat there; frozen in her spot and gawking at the wolf boy. "You're actually here," she acknowledged. "This is actually happening?"

Derek Hale rolled his eyes, and tugged at one of her arms. "I'll explain later, right now, we've got to escape a Stiles shaped lunatic. Let's go –" he said, Lydia nodded vigorously, blinking the fog out of her eyes and shot up, relieved and shell-shocked and still terrified at the same time.

"Oh, for crying out loud," came Derek's voice from behind her, which made her turn around to look. He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his head shaking, a stance her mother often took when she was disappointed at Lydia when she came home at five in the morning on Friday nights. He was staring at Stiles' Board of Creeptastic Things. "I always had a feeling that this kid was a grade A perv," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

"Hey," Lydia snapped her fingers loud enough to catch his attention. "I thought you said action first, ask questions later. What are we waiting for?" she snapped. Derek frowned but nodded and they darted out of the room, Void was face-down on the floor, knocked out cold, and a crashed flower pot lay by his side; vomiting mud and bright petals.

There were several signs of a struggle. "He won't stay down for long," Derek muttered, eyeing his handiwork as they dashed towards the elevator, leaving Void right where he was. "Shouldn't we tie him up?" she asked. "My pack will take care of him, right now, I have to get you out of immediate danger, or the Argent girl is going to have my head," Lydia felt her heart stutter. "So they're alright?"

"They'll live," he replied, cryptically, as the elevator doors slid open and they slipped in. Once inside, Lydia tried to recall what the living room they'd just passed looked like, all she could remember was aureate furnishing, a silver chandelier and the destroyed flowers. Also Stiles' body limp on the floor, looking deader than ever. It made something in her chest shatter like stained glass. "What is this place?"

"My guess? Stern's evil lair," replied Derek.

"Where are we going?" she asked. "You'll see,"

"Why can't you just answer me like a normal person?" she grilled. "You know, you ask a hell of a lot of questions," Derek commented. "I'm sorry I have trust issues, can you blame me? My boyfriend's a hell demon," she muttered, rather offhandedly.

Derek arched an eyebrow. "So he _is_ your boyfriend now? I wonder what you see in him. Is it the Satanism or the panty sniffer vibes that reeled you in? I can't tell," Lydia nudged him in the ribs. "You know he isn't like that," she said, as the elevator doors reopened on the ground floor. "Not the real him, anyway," Derek considered this.

"I cannot believe there has a come a day that I actually miss the old Stiles, I guess hell really has frozen over," he murmured as they rushed out.

 _Oh, it really has._

The air-conditioner above their heads kissed them goodbye with gusts of cool air as they busted out the double doors of the lobby (turns out, it was an office building) and hurried down the steps towards the city street. It was rather refreshing to watch the carefully controlled chaos of New York City after everything she'd just been through, it warmed her insides like a shot of tequila; and for a moment, she just had to stop and admire the narrow, traffic-struck roads, the cars spitting gravel and dust, the cabbies and the hotdog vendors and the tourists and the mothers skirting their babies around in strollers, the glittering faces of billboards and the circus of lights.

Lydia spotted Derek's Camaro and they slid in. She took a couple of seconds to catch her breath once safe inside. His car smelt like pine cone car freshener and deodorant; there was also a dubiously faint scent of donuts emanating from the backseat, Lydia didn't ask.

Derek turned on the engine, but didn't drive. "Now what are we waiting for?"

"Do you think I came alone? My pack should be on their way, plus, we need to stuff your weirdo boyfriend in the trunk," he explained. "Right," she spat, agitated. "I know you're not a fan of answering questions, but seriously, tell me. How are Scott and Allison?"

"Healthy enough to call me to action, this whole rescue mission was their idea. We'll catch up with them soon," he explained. "They owe me big time, I don't exactly enjoy cancelling my evening plans to chase after psychopaths and rescue damsels in distress,"

"Excuse me? I could do my nails and bash your head in at the same time. I'm no damsel in distress. I was just… Why am I even justifying myself to you? You wouldn't understand,"

 _I have a soft spot for Stiles. Why don't you try and consider mangling the person you love to death and see how you handle it?_ she thought, but didn't say. "And _you_ have evening plans?"

"Yes," he snapped, touchily. "Contradictory to popular belief, I do, actually have a life."

"Aren't you chirpy today," she mumbled. Derek scowled his Derek scowl and then leaned back and yanked open the backseat doors. "They're here. It's time we get this show on the road."

All Lydia could see was a boy and a girl, specs in the distance whose faces she couldn't discern, and they were holding up a clearly unconscious Stiles Stilinski, but to avoid suspicion, they'd put dark aviator sunglasses in front of his eyes. "They really aren't fooling anyone with that, you know," Lydia pointed out.

Derek scoffed. "It's New York City," he said. "No-one cares."

xxxxx

Derek's warehouse was like a giant, depressing metal coffin.

Lydia couldn't believe the boy lived in this place. No wonder he was always such a scrooge. The large, nearly empty space had concrete and steel walls supported by steel beams, located somewhere in the heart of a warehouse district in the outskirts of the city; a twenty-minute drive from her own neighborhood. It smelt damp; like algae and wet paint. Early morning sunlight poured in through the large windows at the end of the room, painting the room in gold tinges, dust motes danced like tiny fairies in the patches of light. Two ceiling fans equidistant from one another rotated lazily above them.

Void Stiles was tied to a chair again, in the heart of a room. Only this time, there were double the chains, and he was completely gagged. There were also more people present in the room to overpower him if he tried anything, so he just sat there, communicating with seething death glares, shooting them at everybody in the room. Everyone smoothly ignored his silent threats.

Derek Hale paced the length of the warehouse, "I just spoke with Scott," he explained, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "They'll be here in about half an hour. Allison is just getting patched up at the hospital, but she's doing fine. Scott's already healed. They said there's one more stop they have to make before they get here."

Lydia sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Thank god," she said. "What do we do now?" Derek shrugged. "We wait, I'll leave you kids to it, try not to let the alligator out to play," he muttered. "Oh no," she shot up and blocked his path. "You aren't going anywhere,"

"I second that statement. We need you here, Der," said Malia Tate.

Lydia had been taken aback at first, to learn that Malia was a werewolf, or well, a were-coyote anyway (she didn't even ask for logistics). The recently dyed-blonde didn't exactly scream wolf, in her dark plaids, knee-high boots and eccentric shades of lipstick (today, it was a flirty magenta). For a very long time, although Lydia would never admit it to anyone, she'd been jealous of the other girl, Malia was sexy in ways Lydia would never be, with her tall, toned legs and leather jackets. It was foolish, she'd finally decided, she was a feminist after all, and she believed girls had to perk each other up instead of bring each other down.

Lydia half-wondered if Stiles had known, and then a quarter-wondered what werewolf sex would be like, and then she felt like she was going to be sick and let the indecorous thought pass.

"He keeps giving me the evil eye. I think I need to go for a walk before I punch him in the face," muttered Isaac Lehay, glancing nervously at Void's black hole eyes. That, was another strange surprise. Lydia didn't really know much about the Lehay boy, she'd seen him around school a few times and she was almost positive he was in her Biology class, but he always gave her a strange, cold vibe.

He was introverted and quiet most of the time, he was also tall and lanky, but he was one of those guys who always tried to shrink themselves wherever they were. He had pale, rather vampire-pallid skin, but his lips were almost pink and his sullen cheeks were almost blue. He had a mop of light brown hair that transformed to gold in the sun's light. He looked like someone who spent a lot of time in graveyards, for some reason.

He looked more confident however, in Derek's warehouse, and with his newfangled wolf instincts, than he'd ever been, in a leather jacket and dark jeans, with his back not slouching for once and his ice-cream blue eyes wild.

"Neither of you are going anywhere," muttered Derek, irritably. "And what have I told you about calling me by that intolerable nickname, Malia?" he said, between gritted teeth. Malia rolled her eyes, pouted, and then sank down against one of the several pillars that separated sections of his lair. "Sorry, Der," she crooned.

Isaac stifled a laugh, Lydia smiled; hesitantly. Derek seethed.

"If I have to be stuck in a room with Isaac for another five hundred hours, you could've at least given me a head's up. I would've bought vodka," Malia snapped. "Well," muttered Isaac. "Fuck you too."

Malia shot him a tight smile. "When you talk, all I hear is 'blah bah, blah, bah blah'," she said, scrunching her fingers to make air quotes. Isaac growled. "Hey, are you a stuck-up bitch because you killed like half of your family in a car crash or did you kill like half of your family in a car crash _because_ you're a stuck-up bitch?" he asked, nonchalantly.

Malia lunged at the boy, and as they wrestled, Lydia got the feeling that they had a love-hate thing going on, considering she could smell the sexual tension leaking all the way to her side of the room. "Quit it right now, both of you!" screamed Derek.

Malia looked up from where she sat straddling an electrically charged Isaac. "Time out," he ordered. "Both of you, get back here in fifteen minutes when you've cooled off. _Go_ ," he insisted. Despite both their strong, stubborn personalities, they seemed to take Derek's word as the final word, and were clearly vehemently loyal to him.

Malia sighed, pouted, and then reluctantly crawled off of Isaac, even offering him a hand to help him up. He bit his bottom lip, took it, and then followed her out the warehouse door for some much needed fresh air. Derek sighed languidly and took a seat on a large and lonely looking wooden dining table, a decent distance away from where Void still sat; chained and fuming: a tornado in a cage.

Lydia stared at the city lights reflected from the large windows. Bright, burning, blue. She closed her eyes, and allowed herself a moment - merely a moment, of imagining his arms around her, the real Stiles Stilinski, the boy she'd fallen for, fallen like semblance, like stars, like snow. The winter sky was sharp and breathing against the windows. She wondered if things would ever be normal again. If normality even existed in this world anymore. She wondered if they could be brave, and overcome their obstacles. She wondered if Stiles was gone forever. She pictured his funeral, flowers snatched of their luminous hues, tears scalding cheeks and black umbrellas. It made her head spin, it made her heart sink into the ocean and dissolve.

She threw her thoughts out of the window and stepped back.

"Hey," Lydia took a seat next to Derek. "Can we talk?"

Derek didn't look too enthusiastic about that suggestion. "Only if it's life and death," he replied. "It is," she assured. "Do you think we can get Stiles back?" she asked. "I mean, do you think he can be saved?" Derek, without looking up from where he'd been staring at his shoes, frowned.

"Why ask me?"

"You're clearly experienced; you've been a wolf a long time. I assume you'd be knowledgeable about this stuff, and what's happening to him," she said, honestly.

"It's possible and it's not. I'm not a hundred percent sure, to be honest. At first, I couldn't half believe it. Stiles, skinny, defenseless Stiles, is Spiderman, and now somehow he's also an evil spirit? I think its Stern's doing for sure, either brainwashing or demonic possession. But to be brutally honest? I've never seen anything like it before," he explained.

Lydia studied Derek quietly for a couple of minutes. "You've lost someone, haven't you?" she questioned, knowing that she was stepping a bit out of bounds here, but she couldn't help herself. Derek still wouldn't meet her eyes, but she noticed his palms fisting suddenly.

"None of your business," he replied firmly. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just… I'm hoping for the best, but… I'm trying to prepare for the worst, you know?"

Derek was quiet for a couple of minutes. "Her name was Paige. She was beautiful and full of light. The only pretty thing in my life, you know? She was smart, and kind-hearted and she played the cello wonderfully. God, she was my only virtue," he said, squeezing his eyes shut, Lydia could hear the raw pain in his voice, and it made her feel guilty about even bringing it up.

"I lost her," his voice cracked slightly. "And life's been an endless dark road after that."

"I don't know what to say," Lydia murmured, lamely. "There's nothing to say," he confirmed.

"I'll do everything in my power to fix him, Lydia, I will, but you've got to know… This part of him, it's as evil as they come. He's twisting the love Stiles had for you, morphing it into something murderous and ugly. Love's a powerful emotion, but it's also a destroying emotion. It's eating away at him, and he feels the need to reduce this arousal by having you and then ridding the world of you, because this is love in its darkest, worst possible form," he explained.

Lydia's chest clenched, and she felt like she was tumbling into the darkness all over again. She took a shuddering breath. Suddenly, Derek got something foreign and cloudy in his eyes.

"Sometimes, enemies make the best friends, and sometimes, friends make the best enemies. They know you best, don't they? They know exactly how to hurt you the worst. They know where you live; what you love, what you hate, where you're weakest and strongest. And when they go, they rip themselves out of you so hard it leaves a hole in the world."

She suddenly felt like the whole room was spinning, and goosebumps ran rampant across her skin, everything was cold, everything was dismal; her heart was a grave site.

Lydia wanted to say something; respond, maybe shed some optimism and his clearly pessimistic lifestyle, but her mind was blanking out. Derek cleared his throat and stood up.

"Thanks for the pep talk," she murmured, with a sigh.

"Anytime," replied Derek, darkly.

As Lydia stood up to regain her bearings and try and let that intense conversation sink into her bones, Scott and Allison burst through the door, panting and beaming. Lydia emerged out of her bubble and raced towards her friends, wrapping the both of them in a bear hug. "I'm so glad you two idiots are okay!" she exclaimed. Scott grinned against her, "I'm feelin' the love but I don't mean this lightly when I say you're choking me," Lydia felt her cheeks flush as she took a step back.

Lydia could tell the bruise on Scott's forehead was healing; and fast, Allison's side was patched up, but she looked to be doing well. Derek rolled his eyes and huffed. "Yeah, yeah. Happy to know you're both still alive and breathing down my neck, now, did you find out something useful from Dr. Deaton?" he asked. Lydia knitted her eyebrows together. "Dr. Deaton? Isn't that the vet you work for?"

Allison sighed, "He's more than a vet," Scott nodded. "Yeah, that's a story for another day. But this is important guys, I think we might've just figured out how to get Stiles back, and he explained everything, we know what's wrong with him, too."

Several knots that Lydia hadn't even realized were there unraveled inside her stomach. "Explain everything," she said, immediately. Scott nodded, and Isaac and Malia returned from their 'time out', and Derek took a seat and Lydia paced because her legs suddenly felt like they were made out of jelly, and there were tides in her gut, surging and crashing, surging and crashing.

Void was still glaring at them all like he was plotting creative ways to murder them in his head.

"He isn't possessed, it _is_ Stiles, it's just not, the whole of him," began Scott. "Whatever Stern did to him, it made the darkest parts of Stiles surface and it locked his conscience somewhere in his head. It's like… imagine all the darkest thoughts you've ever had, that one part of your brain that just wants to go on murder sprees all the time, now, without your conscience keeping this part of your brain in check, you're basically a sociopath on steroids," he explained.

"Exactly, so instead of the conscience being at the helm of the ship, it's the worst parts of him." Added Allison, Lydia nodded, comprehending exactly what they meant. "He's tampered with his id and superego, without the ego there to mediate between the two, its pure chaos; as especially when the id – the 'I want' part of the brain, usually overpowers the 'superego'," Lydia elucidated, more to herself than to anyone else.

When she looked up, everybody was staring at her; looking floored.

"I think that's geek speak for exactly what I said in English a moment before," reasoned Scott. Lydia's eyes shot skyward. "Never mind," she said. "Keep going."

"Right, so there's good news and there's bad news. The bad news should probably go first. The only person who can save Stiles from Stiles is Stiles himself. Wow. I said Stiles a lot in that sentence. Anyway, the good news – however, is that we can help him help himself," he explained. Lydia frowned. "You lost me,"

"We guide him back from the depths of his subconscious," elaborated Allison, in non-idiot language. "Werewolves can insert their claws into the nape of people's necks and it creates a sort of mind-mesh, establishing mind-to-mind communication."

Derek laughed dryly. "He doesn't look like he would survive a slap across the face, much less something as dangerous as that."

"You don't think it would work?" asked Scott.

"This is more a war of the mind than the body. You getting into his head might actually be his best shot, now that I think about it," admitted Derek.

"What?" Lydia frowned.

"There are risks involved, yes, of course," muttered Scott. "Like certain death," offered Derek.

"But he's my best friend, I'll be careful. Plus, I've done this before,"

"When?"

Scott bit his lip. "It doesn't matter," he sighed, losing all of his mirth. "Look, we have a shot – and it's a fairly good one, I think we've got to take it. Risk or no risk."

"He's right," agreed Derek, to Lydia's surprise. "This might be the only way to help him. And if this fails, he's a dead man already."

"So what will they do if they find him?" Allison asked.

"Like you said, they're going to have to guide him out somehow. Try to give him back control of his mind, his body," muttered Derek.

"Could you elaborate on the "somehow"?" Lydia asked, tilting her head to the side. "It's not feeling very specific at the moment."

"Improvise."

Lydia nodded. "Alright. Okay. Whatever saves his life, right?" Allison and Scott nodded vigorously. "There's one more thing," Allison said. "Scott shouldn't have to do this alone," she explained. "You and Scott are the closest people to Stiles in this room. You both have to go in and bring him back from the brink, guide him and remind him of who he was before all hell broke loose," Derek described.

The knots she thought she'd just gotten rid of returned with a vengeance. "How would I…" she let her words trail off when she figured the answer for herself, a phantom ache emerged at the back of her neck, and she ran a finger over it absentmindedly. "Fine," she said, after a second of contemplation. "I'll do it."

Lydia glanced across the room at Allison, who offered her a small, blue smile. Lydia was so thankful to have a telepathic best friend. "So let's do this," said Scott, already striding over towards Void, who looked just thirty seconds away from having actual fumes gust out of his ears. _"Now?"_ Lydia asked. "Now," Derek agreed.

There was no disagreeing with both Derek and Scott, so she nodded, pouting ever-so slightly. She tried not to think about getting stuck inside the boy's head, having to scrub brain off of her outfit for days. The honest truth was, she had absolutely no clue how this was going to work; all she knew was that if it brought Stiles back, it was worth it. Every bloody, brainy bit.

"Guys, remember. This is our one and only chance. If you fail, he's a goner." Derek explained.

Scott, whose eyes already flashed with determination, sighed. "If we fail, we're all goners."

Derek began to haul a couple of chairs towards where Void sat, Isaac raised his hand as if this was a classroom and Derek was the professor. "Uh," he said. "What do you want us to do?" Scott and Allison seemed to notice Malia and Isaac for the first time. Scott blinked, and then blinked some more. "Malia?"

Malia smirked, "That's a story for another day," she said, echoing Scott's own words. Allison's entire face looked like a tomato. "Isaac," she muttered. "Try and contain your enthusiasm, Al. We wouldn't want to make your new boyfriend, now would we?" he simpered.

Lydia gawked at Allison, and then at Isaac, and then back. "Allison," she said, carefully. "What is he talking about?" she questioned, despite the fact that she was starting to get the picture.

"We're ex-lovers," Isaac muttered smoothly. Allison made a gagging sound and rolled her eyes. "We went out for two weeks, it was nothing. _Seriously_ ,"

Lydia wanted to know more, but she knew this wasn't the time. "And if you say the word 'lovers' in that way again, I'm going to throw you out of the nearest window," disdained Malia, crisply.

Lydia wondered if she was jealous, she couldn't exactly blame her. Allison was a catch. Isaac shrugged, "I was just messing around. It's good to see you, Ali," he said. "I have just one question. Were you a werewolf when we…?" she let the silence speak for itself. Isaac shot her a dark smile. "I guess you'll never know."

"Oh, God!" Allison groaned, stomping her foot and turning away. Lydia glanced at Scott, to seek his input on the matter, but he was crouching down next to Void, and he'd removed the tape off of his mouth. "Scott, be careful. He's extremely dangerous," Allison warned. Lydia walked over to where Scott and Void sat, locked in some sort of deadly staring contest. She put a hand on Scott's shoulder and squeezed.

"Scott," Void's face dropped, softening like marshmallow, and Lydia felt her heart plummet when she recognized the Stiles that she was familiar with in his expression. "Lydia," he said. "I… I don't understand what's going on," his voice was crumpled paper. Scott sucked in a breath, Lydia's grip on Scott's shoulder tightened. The entire room seemed to stand still. Nobody even dared to breathe. Even Derek stood quiet, uncharacteristically devoid of a quip. Isaac and Malia were staring like they were watching the dead come back to life.

"Is it… Is it really you, Stiles?" Malia croaked.

"I think so… I'm so scared, guys, I… I don't know what's happening to me," a single tear rolled down his cheek; a streak of silver against pale skin. Scott raised a hand, and then dropped it. Lydia couldn't make her limbs move; she couldn't make her mouth speak.

Scott put a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Stiles, you're… There's a part of you still in there?" he frowned and turned to glance at Allison, who was also shocked frozen.

"Was Deaton wrong?"

"Dr. Deaton's never wrong," she managed.

Lydia's eyes widened, realization hit her like a bucket of ice water. "Scott, he's fooling you!"

Void's face hardened once more, it was like watching a blue sky get devoured by dark storm clouds. Void's entire body stiffened, the tear was still glistening against his cheek, but his eyes were poison gas stars. "You people are pathetic," he snapped. "I shed one tear and that's all it takes?"

This made Scott erupt, he shot up and punched Void Stiles in the face, once, and then twice, and thrice and… _"Scott!"_ Lydia yelled, yanking him back, he was growling and panting, he was a red flame. "Enough! Come on, stop it!"

Scott groaned, he kicked at the ground and pushed Lydia away, running a hand through his hair in distress, she could comprehend his pain, she felt it too; like a tidal wave, like sawdust and lava.

Even Isaac looked offended. "Okay, I know we said we can't kill him. But can we kill him?"

Lydia stomped over and stuck the tape back onto Void's mouth. His eyes shot darts at her own. Derek tapped the chair. "Sit down, we're going to do this now before one of us actually does," he said. Lydia was seated next to Void, but with enough distance between them that he couldn't touch her, if he tried to pull anything, even with the restraints on.

Scott stood behind them and opened his fist, a set of claws sharper than her stilettos, glinting in the light cast from the windows behind them. Lydia tried not to think about how much it might hurt. She tried not to think at all; about anything.

Allison strolled over and gave her a quick hug, and then to Scott. "You're both going to be okay. You'll be back, with our Stiles in toe," she said, with a buoyant smile. Lydia wondered if it was true confidence in their abilities or delusion that steered her behavior and then decided that it didn't matter because she needed the assurance.

Lydia tried to avoid Void's gaze, because she could feel it on her like the barrel of a gun. Scott took a deep breath and then let it out. "You ready, Lydia?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. So let's do this thing before I change my –"

 _Mind_ , Lydia thought, as one of his nails dug into the nape of her neck, cold and piercing like a tattoo needle. Lydia managed to catch one last glance at Void, whose eyes widened as Scott dug his nail into the nape of his neck, too. She also caught the blurry and concerned faces of Derek, Allison, Isaac and Malia before her eyes fluttered shut and it was all midnight blackness.


	24. Not About Angels

**A/N: Hey guys! Quick note. This story is going on hiatus after this chapter. I know, I know. I've already made you wait so long. But I'm hoping you'll wait a little bit more for me? I have a few more chapters I need to write and I'm going on a 6 week trip on the 8th of December, so I won't be back until around mid-Jan. So don't expect an update until then. I'm really sorry about the hiatus, but hopefully you will know that I am not one of those writers who abandons there story, so I will complete it. So stick around. Re-read an old chapter. Wait for an update. I'd really appreciate it.**

 **Ooh! Also - REVIEW.**

 **Please. Drop me something nice to come back to.**

 **Credits: This chapter contains dialogue adapted from Teen Wolf, Season 3, episode 22, "De-Void".**

* * *

 _"You could still be,_  
 _what you want to,_  
 _what you said you were,_  
 _when I met you._

 _You've got a warm heart,_  
 _you've got a beautiful brain,_  
 _but it's disintegrating."_

* * *

Lydia's eyes flew open.

They opened to a dank, dark high-rise ceiling. She felt something cool against her spine, it was when she realized that she was completely restrained that she began to panic. She was strapped to a steel bed, her chest, her feet - she was jammed.

Lydia turned her head; Scott was on the other side of the room, strapped to an identical bed, breathing heavily, his pupils dilated in fear. Everything had a strange dreamy feel to it; she saw things in a foggy blue hue; as if she were wearing tinted glasses.

Scott looked even more distressed than she was; he was struggling against the straps, writhing like a dying fish. Lydia exhaled in frustration. "Do you actually need me to remind you that you're a werewolf?" she asked, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"We're in Stiles' head." Scott said, like Lydia didn't already know that.

"Yes Captain Obvious," she groaned. "And you're a supernatural creature with supernatural strength."

Scott stopped struggling to gawk at Lydia. She looked him right in the eyes, hoping the ice in front of his irises would melt. " _Break. Free_." She urged.

Scott did as he was told, he strained against the straps, it took him a couple of minutes, but he succeeded. Panting and rather pink-faced, Scott fumbled over to her and undid her restraints.

"What now?" he asked, dumbly, even though this was his own brilliant idea, as Lydia rubbed her sore wrists. "I don't know," she then admitted.

"This is my first time in someone else's head."

Scott sighed, and nodded, taking a couple of steps ahead of her, he looked like he wanted to open the door in front of them; it was large and rusty, but surely dream doors didn't work the same as real-life doors. "Just stay behind me," Scott said.

Lydia nodded weakly. And then the blue fog got foggier and black spots danced in front of her eyes, Lydia felt disembodied for a couple of disorienting seconds, and then the door was swung wide open, and Scott McCall was gone. Lydia felt panic shoot up her chest and into her throat, her pitter-pattering heart was now torrential. "Scott? _Scott!_ "

Gone.

Lydia ventured out of the room, despite the tumult in the pit of her stomach, and the way her nerves were racing wildly. Momentarily, her surroundings bubbled and fizzed, melted and remolded themselves, giving Lydia motion sickness even though she remained unmoving. Now she was in a hallway, it looked like she was standing in somebody's house, a wooden door in front of her stood ajar; she pushed the door slightly open wider and took a step in to take a look at what was going on.

Lydia realized she's just stepped inside a child's bedroom. It had light blue walls, an aquarium in the corner, lots of crayon drawings stuck up everywhere, and baseball bedsheets. Pearly curtains danced in the wind coming from outside, light, sleepy rain pressed against the window, a tree's branch was lurching, casting twirling shadows in the room. A six-year-old Stiles lied tucked into bed, and a beautiful lady with gorgeous brunette hair and a smile as benevolent and sweet as summer was stroking his hair, singing him to sleep. Her eyes were dainty daisies. The light cast from the lava lamp on his bedside table colored their faces in the shade of flames, eerie despite the warm, juvenile atmosphere.

"Mommy, I'm scared," the baby boy admitted. He wore blue rocket-ship pajamas, his hair was the same dark chocolate as they'd always been, but his eyes were lighter, soft and wide with wonders – bursting with the fairytale optimism all little kids seemingly possessed, still untouched by the horrors of the world, still believing in magic and the seven dwarves and pirate ships.

"Don't be," she said, kissing his forehead. "Every monster you'll ever meet is only just a tree," she said, smiling at him. Lydia felt her own heart stumble, in a good way. She tousled his hair once more. "My beautiful, brave boy," he was looking at her like she was a world of her own, a world he didn't quite comprehend yet; but one he adored unconditionally.

"I'm going to shut the lights off so you sleep better, okay? You'll be brave, right? Remember, I'm always with you. I promise," she said. "Even when it's dark?" he questioned, innocently.

" _Especially_ when it's dark," she replied. "Plus, I have my angels watching over you at all times."

"You have angels?" The little boy's eyes were wide with intrigue.

"Oh, yes. An army of them. And they're all here to protect you," his mother replied, grinning gently.

She reminded Lydia of a white dove, peaceful and lovely.

"What do they look like?"

"Anything you want them to be,"

"Cool!"

Lydia felt spite all of a sudden, how dare the gods take away this woman from her little baby boy? "Good night, I love you,"

"Good night, Mommy."

Lydia couldn't help but recall a conversation she'd had with Stiles once, and he'd asked her if she believed in angels, of course, they'd been children at the time, but Lydia's parents were always keen on shining a light on the harsh realities of the world. So she'd never believed in angels, or Santa, or fairytales. Even though she loved to read them, she could always compartmentalize; separate what was true from what was false.

"No, silly," she remembered replying. "Angels don't exist."

She felt horrible about it now, recalling how she'd stolen the innocent lights behind a baby Stiles' eyes.

She had broken his heart even before they'd fallen in love.

She looked at the boy again, closing his eyes to greet restful sleep as his mum left the room.

Lydia wanted to reach out, wrap that little kid in her arms and never let go. That's when everything around her swirled again, and now she was standing in another hallway and this one resembled her school hallway to a tee…

Lydia gasped, staring down at the dress she was suddenly wearing. It was the very same one that she wore to the Spring Formal. Colorful balloons rained down from the ceiling, falling gently all around her like large, rainbow-hued dewdrops. Music began to play in the distance; a phantom wind kissed her hair.

Lydia turned around; the floor was now strewn with multicolored helium balloons that tickled her ankles. The music began to drone louder, clearer. Lydia tried to catch some of the lyrics.

" _You're not just a girl; you're more like the air and sea.  
I want you so desperately, and nothing's gonna keep us apart."_

Lydia recognized the song, it was the one that played the first time they'd danced, she hadn't paid much attention to it back then, but now she was absolutely positive that this was the one. The music began to swell, loud as the din of bombs, Lydia's heart leapt into her mouth, the lights dimmed. Footsteps. Inching closer and closer.

When she turned around, Void was at her tail.

He smiled at her his volatile smile and it was like she'd been struck by lightning. She began to run, sprinting through the sea of glittering balloons, towards the double-doors that hopefully led straight out of here. "You can't get rid of me," he bellowed, monstrous and callous. "I'm everywhere!" Lydia ran past the double doors, in the pretty darkness, she was almost praying for the end. He was perhaps right about being everywhere, because he appeared out of thin air, right in front of her, and she had to speed the other way.

His poisonous laugh echoed down the hallway and crawled inside her chest like a disease.

Lydia found another door, she didn't know where it would lead, but she dashed through it. She frowned when she realized that she was now standing in someone's closet, breathing through fabric, her head buried in clothes hanging from hangers. That was when she caught sight of Scott, but when she called out to him, it was almost like she was invisible, or he was deaf.

Because he didn't react, he behaved like he couldn't hear a thing.

"Why are we in your closet?" Scott asked. At first, she thought he was talking to her, but then she heard a familiar voice; Allison's voice. "We're hiding."

"From who, your dad?" Scott asked, confused. "Don't worry about it," replied Allison, cryptically.

All Lydia could see was the back of her head, and Scott staring at her like he subconsciously knew this wasn't real but kind of wanted it to be. "Doesn't your dad know we're together?" he questioned. "Shh. It's okay. Don't worry." Allison leaned in and kissed him, and he kissed her back.

Lydia felt like a Peeping Tom, she was about to look away when Scott pulled himself off of her. "Hold on. Allison, this isn't right," he said. "Finally," Lydia whispered to herself at his light bulb moment. "What? What do you mean?" Allison sounded offended.

"This isn't real. You're not here. This is wrong. This is a trick."

"Exactly!" Lydia exclaimed. "It's a trick."

Scott caught sight of her. "Lydia? Lydia!" She nodded and surged forward, the closet disappeared and they were in a brightly lit room, one that almost rendered them blind. Scott groaned. "Now where are we?"

"I'm assuming the face of the sun," responded Lydia, shielding her eyes.

"Where did you go?" Lydia asked, although she kind of figured he'd just been through a similar horror show. "I don't know. An acid trip?" he pondered.

"It was bad," Lydia agreed.

"It was Void," Scott said, resolute in his conclusion.

When her eyesight stung less, she opened her eyes to a stark white, spacious room. Scott stared at two specs in front of them, they both jogged towards them. It was a creepy hooded figure clad from head to toe in black, slightly behind him, crumpled in a submissive heap, was Stiles Stilinski – _her_ Stiles Stilinski.

Scott and Lydia both called out to him, waving their hands around like maniacs, hopping up and down to maybe catch his attention. "Stiles! Stiles! Over here! Hey, buddy!" to no avail. He looked almost like he'd been struck catatonic or something. The hooded figure, she quickly figured, was guarding him.

"What do we do?" Scott asked. "He won't hear us."

Lydia thought about this, and an idea dawned over her, one that should've been obvious from the start. "Stiles is part of your pack." Lydia said.

"What? What do you mean?"

"He's human. I mean, radioactive spider bite aside, anyway. But he's still part of the pack, right?"

"Yeah," Scott nodded. "Yeah, of course."

Lydia sighed. What would have Scott done without her?

"So how do wolves signal their location to the rest of the pack?"

"They howl."

Lydia nodded, like 'exactly, you dumbass'.

Scott howled, loud enough to crack the ground they were standing beneath, loud enough to tilt the world. Stiles, who'd had his face buried in his knees, looked up, bleary eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Lydia rushed over to him, and then the hooded figure attacked her. He flung her right across the room, her head hit wall, but it didn't hurt, surprisingly. Maybe this dream realm was protecting her. When she stood up, Scott had already defeated the hooded figure, who burst into a cloud of literal darkness and then evaporated.

Lydia rushed back towards Stiles' side. Scott glanced at her. "He threw you across the room and not a scratch?" he looked impressed. "What can I say? I have bones of steel," she joked.

They crouched down to examine Stiles. "Hey," Scott said. "Stiles?"

He simply blinked at them with those big, muddy eyes of his. "Come on, Stiles. We have to get you out of here. We've done our part, now you've got to do yours. You're the only one who can get us out of this shit show now," he explained. "Stiles," Lydia said, her fingers shivering as she leaned over to touch his chin.

"You can be brave, right? You have to be brave. I know it must've been so painful. But we're here now and you're going to be okay," she smiled, fighting back stinging tears. "Stiles, come on – _please_ ," she said. "Snap out of it," Scott insisted. "Listen to me," she said, cupping his face in her hands, despite the electric currents that were frying her veins at the touch.

"You have to live. You have to get up and fight. The world still needs you. We… _I_ need you," she mustered, her lips quivering.

Stiles simply blinked. Lydia felt like she could've been talking to a wall.

"What's wrong with him?" Scott questioned.

"A month of mental torture," Lydia said. "We were fools to expect this would be easy. Stiles, listen to me. Focus on my voice. Alright? And _listen_ ,"

"I... I know that there's a part of you that wants to stay here, a part of you that feels defeated, like you don't even deserve to return; but do you remember what your mother said to you all those years ago? You're brave, and right now, being brave is living. It's bouncing back from the brink and facing your demons head on. There's still a city out there that needs you right now, and your dad still needs you. Are you going to turn your back on us now?"

Stiles was still quiet.

Scott grunted. "Stiles," he said. "Buddy, you're going to be fine. You've come back from worse things. You're one of the strongest people I know, and I don't mean physically. You decided one day that you would make the best out of a dismal situation, and that was the day that you changed the world. Spiderman is still a legacy, and you're still powerful, you just don't realize it,"

Lydia nodded vigorously. "Don't let your demons become you, Stiles. I lived in a world without Stiles Stilinski for a month, and I never want to go there again. _Come. Back_."

Stiles still didn't speak, but he leaned in, and pressed his cheek against her palm. The warmth between their skin made her stomach heave and her internal organs evaporate. He was a beautiful disaster; a broken dream.

Suddenly, footsteps began to reverberate through the thin walls. Stiles' eyes widened even more, if that was possible, and he spoke his first phrase; and it wasn't a pleasant one.

"He's coming!"

The boy was shuddering; a ghost haunted. Scott and Lydia helped him to his feet, one arm lapped around Scott's neck, the other around Lydia's. They had to keep him steady.

"I'm sorry about… everything he did, to… to you," Stiles managed. "Shh," Lydia said. "Not now."

He looked relieved. Lydia was almost ecstatic despite the fear building in her chest. He was warm, and tangible and alive. He was really here. Not dead. Not damned. Damaged, but breathing – and that was all she needed, that was the color of hope.

"You're going to be able to take care of this bastard right? Because I've been waiting a long damn time to watch him crumble like the dirt he is," Scott said. "I'm not strong enough," Stiles replied, and Lydia believed him, because the only reason he was standing, even semi-erect, was because he was leaning most of his body weight on the two of them. Lydia had to wrap her other arm around his waist to keep him from toppling face-first. How was he going to fight Void in this state? He looked like he couldn't even outlast a fly.

"You are," Scott said. "You're freaking Spiderman. Alright? This weakness… You think it's physical, but it's actually mental," and for once, Scott had said something pretty smart. He was absolutely correct. Stiles _believed_ he was feeble, and so he felt helpless.

"He's right," she decided. "You can do this, Stiles. We're in _your_ head. You're the boss here."

"I'm not," he argued. " _He_ is,"

Lydia sighed. "He isn't. You submitted and so he thinks he is, but this is your head we're standing in. You can warp things here. All you have to do is remind yourself that you have strength – mental and physical strength, and I promise you, you'll beat this. You've been stuck in a limbo for awhile, now's your chance to snap out of this funk."

"Just think about all the shitty things he's done, anger's usually a perfect excuse to kill someone. And you have to kill him, or he's never going to quit." Scott reasoned.

Stiles' nodded weakly, eyes bewildered and unsure, but Lydia could tell he was registering their words. Void returned, inching closer.

He was a castle of darkness in the striking pallor of everything else. He shot them a blood-curdling leer. "You kids want a fight? Let me provide you with a battlefield." He snapped his fingers and everything was ice and stony wind.

xxxxx

Stiles

They were standing in the war zone he'd seen in his dream.

It was like being in the midst of the North Pole, only the quality was that of pastel and fabric; surreal and nightmarish. The skies were bleached and unforgiving, snowflakes whizzed past them at subsonic frequencies, in that chaotic and crazed way of theirs; like they were going insane. It was cold but not frigid; which reminded him that they were, indeed, in his head – no matter how vivid this all felt.

He would've collapsed right then, so terribly overwhelmed, so terribly outmatched by his very own demons – if it wasn't for _them_. Scott stood by his side like a soldier, spine straight, shoulders squared, his low-pitched growling seemed enough to move the heavens and upturn oceans. It wasn't his willingness to fight for his best friend that grounded him though, even if it was part of that equation; it was more the familiarity of the boy. He remembered nights spent at the McCall home, pillow forts and camping out in the backyard, fruit loops and toy cars. It was the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed and the nostalgic hilarity Stiles found in his uneven jawline.

And Lydia, Lydia, Lydia.

Her wine-stained cheeks and fire-rose hair stood out in the white haze of everything; a splash of color in a colorless world. Where Scott had let go, Lydia still clung to him, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other across his torso; hoisting him up. It was not because he needed it or she needed it, it was because it felt natural; like instinct. It was because they were two ships in the night with anchors intertwined; making them tethered to each other. It was because she was his sanity, and he was her rock. She was not just a part of his life; she was a part of him. She was summer evenings spent in bedrooms pretending to study, she was the girl with the bottle green eyes who shimmered across the room, and she was his best friend, too.

And in that moment, Stiles could not tell Scott apart from Lydia or Lydia and Scott apart from himself. It was like the three of them were one entity; one being; a well-oiled machine of moving parts that would not function without one another.

And in that moment, Stiles finally felt powerful. He was doing this alone, but he was not alone. He had never been, and god, was he thankful for that, because being lonely sucked.

Void circled them like a hawk, and then he tossed him a slick, imperial sword. It was beautiful and glossy, with a silver hilt that looked like it was built out of moonlight. It was a shiny snake. "I always play fair," Void shrugged, in a way of explanation. That was how confident he was that he would win this battle, that he handed his adversary the weapon of his destruction.

Against him, Lydia shivered. "What if it's just another trick?"

"We'll just have to play it his way and find out, then," responded Stiles. "Won't we, Voidy?"

Void snarled, clearly not approving of his new nickname.

They fought for what felt like hours, but could've been minutes or years. Time meant nothing here. It was almost non-existent. Void was extremely intelligent, and he knew all of his tricks, he reversed every move he made because he already knew what move he was going to make before he made it. It was the most challenging fight he'd ever fought, and it was a fight he was having with himself. Quite literally. Void was fast and graceful as a cat, and so was Stiles. It was like watching twins or clones have at each other. It was like trying to tell a blade of grass apart from another blade of grass. They were both perfectly matched, and so nobody was winning; not yet.

They landed equally brutal blows, and yet, nothing fatal.

Scott, who was stood behind him, itching to fight but unable to really aid, whispered to Lydia. "What happens if he dies in here?" he asked. "He won't," Lydia's words were dripping with conviction. "I feel trippy," he commented. "Shut up," said Lydia.

He let their words drown out. Void glowered, blood dripping from his mouth in streams of red velvet. "You're nothing without me, weak and scared and _stupid_." He snapped. "I am built for a horrifying world. You're soft. The world will have your guts," he went on as they continued to fight with their identical swords and identical faces and disparate ideals.

"Maybe," Stiles said. "At least I'm not going to hell," he was extremely close to landing a blow, but Void side-stepped, expecting this; and he slashed at thin air. Void laughed terribly, it rumbled round them like an avalanche.

Suddenly, an idea lit him up, and it was an awful one (to be fair, Stiles didn't know any other kind). It was the only way, he realized, that he would be able to destroy Void, and that was beat him at his own game; to trick him and catch him off-guard. He had to do something that Void would not expect to make this happen, and there was only one thing he knew to do that the monster wouldn't expect.

It was playing with fire, but Stiles had been burned countless times, and he was beginning to feel like a pyromaniac. It was a gamble, and it could get him killed however, it was more effective than continuing to play this incessant and pointless game of cat and mouse.

What this battle needed was a twist, and Stiles would give it just that.

"Scott, Lydia," he said. "Do you trust me?"

" _No!"_ they both screamed in unison.

Stiles altered their answers in his head, and they screamed, "yes!" even though they didn't do it by their own free wills. Stiles took a deep breath, and just as Void slashed at him, he blocked the blow with his own sword, and swiped it, sending his weapon rattling to the icy ground. As he leaned down to pick it back up, Stiles whipped the sword around so that the hilt was facing Void and the sharp end was facing his very own heart.

 _It's now or never._

He would not think about the pain, or about the stupidity of his grand plan. He would think that this way was the only way out, for once, he would rely on his conscience.

He stabbed himself, straight through the heart. Void gasped and crumpled to his knees, horror painting his features, Stiles managed the smallest of satisfied smiles. Scott bellowed at the same time as the banshee screamed; piercing and wounded as blood filling his mouth. It ached for a moment, and then he felt nothing at all.

He collapsed to the cold ground; Lydia caught him in her lap, her knees buckling. Scott was howling uncontrollably, the mourning cry of a wolf that'd lost a brother.

He felt a hot tear against his cheek, but it wasn't his own.

Stiles' found one of Lydia's quaking fingers and held it to his lips.

"It's okay," he said. "It's all better now."

* * *

 **Before you people show up at my doorstep with guns and knives - he's not really dead. There'd be no story if he was. So chill. And I'm sorry about the feels attack. Hey, maybe you should drop me a review.**


	25. Hurts Like Heaven

**Ayyye! Look whose back. Back again. NEW UPDATE YAS YAS LET'S GOOOOOOO. I hope you all had a lovely new year. I can't believe the holiday season's over. Is time even real anymore wtf. Oh welllll... Welcome to 2016! This update's my Christmas gift to you all. ^.^**

 **P.S Things are going to get all topsy turvey after this chapter, so enjoy the tranquility before the shit parade while it lasts, lol.**

 **Oh and I don't have to tell you to review, right? JUST DO IT! - Shia LaBeouf, 2015**

 **CREDITS: This chapter contains dialogue adapted from Teen Wolf, Season 3, Episode 11, "Alpha Pack".**

* * *

 _When, my, time comes around,_  
 _lay me gently in the cold dark earth,_  
 _No grave can hold my body down,_  
 _I'll crawl home to her_

* * *

Stiles

Two pairs of blurry eyes. Green and brown and blinking curiously in his face.

Everything was hazy, like trying to peer through fogged up glass. Where was he? Who were these people? Were they angels? They didn't seem like angels. There was a strange and relentless ringing in one of his ears… ears! He still had both of them. He ran a hand over his chest, he could also feel his legs, and if he was moving his hands, he probably had arms attached as well. He felt himself sigh in relief. He had all his limbs intact. He didn't seem to retain any injuries, considering there wasn't a sword sticking out of his chest. Someone said something muffled, he barely caught the words. His eyesight cleared. Definitely not angels.

It took him a couple of minutes to regain his bearings, his body felt lighter than it should, and he felt like there was dirt lodged in his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. Lydia Martin was crouched by his side; her slender fingers were knotted in his t-shirt – either out of nervousness or because she couldn't wait to punch him. Her eyes glimmered with liberation, as if someone had just told her that the war was over. Her bubblegum lips parted to speak, but then she closed them like she thought better of it. Scott stood over her, with a hand resting on her shoulder, his big, brown eyes were ecstatic.

"Do you think the shock's rendered him mute?" a disembodied male voice that was neither Lydia nor Scott muttered. "Cut the guy some slack. He's just returned from the depths of his own brain. I know I'd be in rehab if I took a tour of _my_ brain," said another voice, this one, slightly higher pitched; female. "Yeah, I bet your brain's a terrifying place." The other voice responded. He could feel more eyes on him. They were expecting him to do something, say something.

"So am I like undead now?" he said. "Does that make me like a vampire or zombie? Because that would be cool."

There was a collective release of breaths he couldn't believe they were all holding - for _him_.

Despite going out every night, living behind a mask, a bright red lie who'd seemed to so effortless become the clutches of a limping city; Stiles had always felt like an insignificant, somebody nobody bothered to look twice at in a crowd of colorful faces; a ghost boy whose smiles were see-through, whose hollow eyes held secrets and dust.

And suddenly, he felt important. Or at least, wanted, needed, missed.

 _Existent_.

Lydia smiled, let go of his t-shirt, and got to her feet. "He's himself again," she announced. Stiles managed a small smile of his own, because his insane plan had somehow worked, he wasn't dead, and his little joke had already lightened the clouds of darkness that had been hanging above their heads while he'd been out cold.

"Come on, man." Scott said, lending him a firm hand. "Get up!"

"This isn't heaven," he said, jokingly, as he pulled himself to his wobbly feet with the help of Scott, despite of the emptiness in the pit of his stomach. "There'd be harps in heaven, and underwear models feeding me grapes."

Scott chuckled and then yanked him into a hug. "Glad to have you back," he said. "And in one piece." Stiles nodded against him. "That makes two of us."

When he let go and turned around, he realized that they were standing in Derek's warehouse, and the man himself stood by his dining table, mouth curved in a scowl, brooding silently as natural to him. Stiles thought about how if his mom was still alive, and she met Derek, she would warn him that someday, his face would freeze on that unpleasant expression.

"If he's here, this must actually be hell," he snapped. Derek grunted. "I will bite your head off and –" Scott cut him off. "Be nice to him, we wouldn't have been able to bring you back without his help," he explained. "Sorry," he amended, quickly. "I'm just a little on edge, after being resurrected and all," he chuckled lamely. Derek simply rolled his eyes.

"You know, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I liked him better when he was all murderous," he muttered.

Stiles was surprised to see Isaac Lehay and Malia Tate there. Well Isaac not so much. He'd always been weird and silent. The only way he made sense was if he was a supernatural creature, and to his credit, he did turn out to be one. His ex-girlfriend on the other hand…

"Malia?" she offered him a small smile and then sauntered over to embrace him. "You're a… You're a werewolf?" she nodded her head. "A were-coyote, actually,"

"Really? Were-coyotes? What's next? Were-alpacas? Were-monkeys?"

"Humor really is your defense mechanism huh," she commented. "The one and only," he agreed. "But seriously, were you a wolf when we…?"

Malia nodded with a smirk. "Why didn't you ever tell me? God! All those deer jokes. It's because you actually eat deer, don't you? And that was why you tried to eat my cousin's pet rabbit. Wow. It all makes sense now," Malia considered this, "Yeah, now that I think about it, you should've figured it out,"

"I still feel betrayed,"

"Welcome to the club," said Allison, sauntering over and wrapping him in a hug. "It's great to have you back. The other you was one sleazy comment away from getting his ass seriously kicked."

Stiles smiled, nodded and then proceeded to take a seat on Derek's lonesome little dining table. He needed a few minutes. He was quipping and pretending to be okay, but the truth was, he remembered every single thing that Void had done, he'd seen it all, felt it all. It was like watching a never-ending horror movie. He'd been helpless and sitting on his hands. He'd heard the words that came out of his own mouth, felt all the guilt and terror that Void was numb to. And it was overwhelming him. It was like a parade of storms in his stomach, a volatile rush of lightning, several broken hearts stomped over at once. The truth was, he felt galaxies away from who he used to be. The truth was, he was a mural of death and dying lights.

Void had injured people and hurt the ones closest to him. Stiles didn't feel very much like a hero anymore, not that he'd been one to begin with. He felt like a terrible person. He felt asleep. He felt… like a coward. He didn't think he even deserved to be Spiderman anymore, after all the tragedies he'd set off, one after the other like a string of bombs. The reality was that he was extremely disoriented. The reality was that he felt like a stranger in his own body. The reality was that he wanted to break into tears, bury himself six feet under the stars and peel his own face off all at the same time.

The reality was, that even though he'd won; he'd lost.

It was when he'd collapsed to the floor and began wheezing that he realized he'd been greeted by his old friend: the panic attack. Not now, not now, not now. I just convinced them I was fine and now they're going to incessantly worry. Stop, stop, stop, stop!

Damn it.

It was like an invisible fist was choking him to death, his chest stung like he'd just drank a whole bottle of rat poison, and his stomach lurched uncertainly. Stiles grabbed his own neck, hoping to somehow calm himself down, think of his happy place, but it wasn't working. Everything and everyone was reduced to a blur again. He heard a rumble of footsteps and then Scott was grabbing his shoulders firmly and striving to get him to meet his eyes.

"Stiles, look at me. Come on, look at me," he directed. He did as he was asked. "Let's count backwards from ten, okay? One, two," he said, to get a fumbling and ridiculous Stiles to repeat after him. He was held hostage by the panic, and the way his insides felt like they were going to soon become his outsides.

"One… T- Two…" it wasn't working.

They went all the way till seven, and still nothing.

Stiles was still shuddering, breathing heavily like a woman in labor would. His arteries were on fire. It was as if some supernatural force was aiming to snuff the life out of him. No matter how many times the panic attack struck, he was always caught by surprise by its arbitrary viciousness. It made him hate himself; it made him ashamed to be Stiles Stilinski. He was drowning, drowning, drowning… and there was no coming up for air. He had just escaped death, and now he would die like this.

Scott looked panicky and frantic himself, eyes swiveling for help. "Maybe we should call the ambulance, I… I can't do anything, I tried to take his pain away, but it doesn't work like that with panic attacks," he explained, to a silhouette on his left. The silhouette replied to him, but the words were drowned out by the blood raging in his ears.

And then he was gone and Stiles was alone.

He squeezed his eyes shut, silently praying for the suffering to stop. When he opened his eyes, it was like someone up there had answered his prayer.

Lydia now stood in Scott's place, enchanting eyes wide, lips parted in worry, cheeks flushed so very ruddy he wanted to reach out and stroke them.

Only he couldn't, because he was still breathless.

"Okay. Come on. Come on," she was freaking out a little too, but she looked prettier than him doing it. Stiles' heart was beginning to do back-flips inside his chest, and not in a good way.

"Just try and think about something else, anything else." Lydia said.

Stiles, between laborious breaths, "Like what?"

"Uh, happy things. Good things. Uh, friends, family."

It wasn't helping, but he appreciated her effort. Perhaps this panic attack was incurable. Perhaps his heart would give out, or his lungs would tire and he would die. Maybe it was okay, though, because if there was one person he last wanted to lay his eyes on before he went, it was Lydia Martin. And she was a beautiful sight to close his eyes to. Marvelous and endless, glistening like a constellation; or a whole night sky full of dancing constellations.

"Oh, God," he really wasn't going to make it.

The hyperventilating was only getting worse; he could see his own terror mirrored back in Lydia's eyes; her green, green eyes… rather prismatic, almost entrancing; like moonlight…

"Okay, uh, just… Try and slow your breathing."

Stiles gasped, "I can't. I can't."

He really couldn't.

Everything that had happened this past month swelled and raged and tormented him. Every macabre and damned thing, every wonderful and memorable thing too, both swirling in streams of memories floating farther and farther away from him… The weight of a thousand terrible things sat on his back, the elephants in his stomach partied, he was going to die, he was going to die…

"Shh, shh. Stiles, look at me. Shh, look at me. Shh, Stiles."

What a tainted and unfulfilled life he'd lived, what a…

Stiles looked up at Lydia, and before he could even blink or linger on her lovely features, she pressed her mouth to his in an engulfing kiss that spread all the way from his toes through to his 's palms were soft and warm against his face, like they were carved out of honey and sugar. At first, he was taken by surprise, but then, he closed his eyes and eased into it. His lips dancing with hers elatedly; everytime they touched it felt like the whole world wanted this. Like perhaps they weaved starlight and made the mountains dance and they didn't even know it.

The kiss made him think, think the moon flirting with the stars, think every lullaby his mother used to sing to him when he was a kid, think gold skies and wishing fountains.

Lydia Martin's kisses were always painful in the sweetest possible way, like blood mixed in with cranberries, like hurtful heaven.

It had been so cold, for so long. Stiles had almost forgotten what warmth felt like. It felt like Lydia Martin, and summers, and kisses just like this one. He wanted to stay in that kiss forever, perhaps seal it in a button that he could press every single time it got dark and he needed some light. Lydia let go, gently.

He hadn't even realized he was breathing again.

Stiles just gawked at her. His vision had cleared, but Lydia was still the only thing he could see clearly. She was beaming, delighted by her success.

"Oh. How'd you do that?" he managed.

"I, uh… I read once that… Holding your breath could stop a panic attack. So when I kissed you… You held your breath."

"I did?"

Lydia broke into a small, neat smile. "Yeah. You did."

He was quiet for a couple of seconds, and then he took a deep breath and let it out. The fires had diminished, the air had cleared. The invisible beast had retreated. His lips still tingled with sparks. That was the acceptable kind of stinging. "Thanks. That was really smart."

Lydia frowned at him for a moment, in confusion rather than disdain, and then chuckled.

"Come on," she said. "We need you get you to the hospital."

"No," Stiles said. "I… I have to see my dad,"

"You will see your dad after we make sure your blood's not turned black and that all your vitals are stable," Lydia said, in a don't-even-bother-arguing-with-me-on-this tone.

Stiles nodded, she helped him to his feet.

"I didn't sign up for a porno you know," Isaac commented. Lydia flashed him a glare that could perhaps make a God change his mind. Stiles almost felt guilty about kissing Lydia in front of Malia, but to his surprised, she looked engrossed in Isaac, arguing with him over something with fervor twinkling in her stance.

He caught her eye and he offered her a small smile, like he knew. Her smile said that it was a secret.

He was happy she was moving on, she deserved a boy who didn't spend his days doting over Lydia Martin.

Derek Hale looked relieved. "Everybody do exit my humble abode," he said. "I hope I don't have to see you again for a while,"

"Oh, Hale. You know you love us," Stiles teased. He huffed, but he didn't make a rude comment. Progress.

He left the building with both anxiety and excitement bubbling in his chest, with Lydia, Allison and Scott by his side.

This felt like a new beginning, like unbidden friendship and a warning to the dark things in this world: whatever would come at them next, they would be ready for it; armed and equipped with weapons more efficient than any blade or pistol: each other.

xxxxx

"Everything looks stable, your heartbeat's slightly rapid, but understandable under the circumstances. Your blood sugar levels look a little low though, so stack up on those candy bars and you'll be just fine," Melissa McCall said, with that brown sugar smile of hers that gave him nostalgia. She had dark hair and tanned skin, her eyes were warm honey and coming home after a long trip to a foreign country. There was something in her stance, in her determination and fire to do good, to save people's lives; that reminded Stiles of Scott. It was definitely where Scott got his kindred instincts.

It felt strange to be back in a hospital room, it still held bad memories of the time Lydia had spent here. The nights he'd himself spent, in nervous anticipation, not knowing whether she would live or die. The stale food and the florescent lights. The putrid stench of medicines.

Stiles pushed the thought away, he had enough of horrifying thoughts left from the aftermath of Void's war to dwell on events that now felt like they had happened eons ago and make matters worse. "Thanks, Melissa," Stiles said, politely, sitting up to get rid of a kink in his neck. Scott's mother was a doctor, and she knew about her son being a werewolf. She didn't know that Stiles was Spiderman, but Stiles planned to tell her, eventually, now that his father also knew. Melissa had always been like the mom he'd never had, and she treated him like her own son, too.

Being around her made him feel the way he used to back when his own mother was around. And it brought back childhood memories, back when the world was simpler and lighter, of sandbox days and beyblade races. Sometimes he wished he could go back to being that oblivious kid who was blind to how dark and twisted everything could be.

Melissa nodded, and tousled his hair lightly. "You take care of yourself, alright? I don't want to be seeing you in this hospital room again for a long time coming," Scott, who was with them, scoffed silently, probably because he knew that with their circumstances, Stiles was bound to end up in the hospital every single day, and that it was a testament to his luck probably, that he didn't. Despite himself, he nodded humbly. "I will."

Lydia had gone home, she said it was urgent, and that her mom was sick; but Stiles knew that that was probably a lie. She needed time to clear her head after everything that had gone down. Despite that kiss that might've even saved his life, Stiles noticed the way she sucked in a breath everytime their elbows even brushed on the drive to her house, where they dropped her before they headed to the hospital. He noticed how she could never meet his eyes, how she wrapped her arms around herself protectively. Void had left a string of broken people in his wake: Scott, Allison, Lydia. He'd managed to leave a scar on everyone.

The largest scar of them all was Stiles himself.

He would have nightmares for days to come, about the thoughts he would never dare to imagine were his own, swirling around in the black pool that had become his infected head. He couldn't think or see or comprehend clearly. Everywhere he turned, he thought he might find Void, still standing there, breathing down his neck, smiling with those vacant vessels of eyes, like a lifeless corpse reanimated by puppet strings and stage lights. It was terrifying. _He'd_ been terrifying. He couldn't even look at his own reflection in the mirror without cringing anymore.

If Stiles had been struggling with self-loathing before, he was drowning in it now.

Scott promised his mom he'd be home in time for dinner, and then steered Stiles out of the hospital. "I have to see my dad," he announced. "I know," Scott said. "You sure you're up for it right now though? You're looking a little disoriented."

"I'm fine,"

"You're not, buddy. If you were, I'd assume you have no soul, or that you're a sociopath; which I guess; is the same thing. What I mean is - it's normal for you to have some PTSD."

Post-traumatic stress disorder - did that apply in situations when the devil inhabited your body?

"I don't want to talk about it,"

"Why would I want to talk?"

Scott was more understanding than he let on. Stiles shot him a small smile, and it delivered what he meant to say _: thanks for being a non-sucky friend,_ Scott's expression seemed to reply: _don't get emotional on me, asswipe, but I appreciate the sentiment._

When they got to his father's NYPD base, Stiles' hands were shaking. They just stood there for a couple of moments, staring at his father's name embossed in gold lettering on his office door. What was he even supposed to say? Was there anything to say, even? He couldn't just barge in there like, _Hey, dad. So I'm back from hell. Sorry I'm late, but I've never been super punctual anyway. How's life going? Did you join that dating website I suggested?_

"Stiles," Scott said. "He'll just be happy to see you alive."

He was right, of course, but his father was going to see him, for the first time, as not just Stiles Stilinski, his son, but as Stiles Stilinski - Spiderman. He wasn't sure what to expect anymore, but he knew that his father deserved to know after all, and that he didn't deserve to suffer longer than he already had. It was what kept Stiles motivated to keep himself alive, because John Stilinski already lost his wife, but if he was to lose his only son, he would not be able to go on living. Stiles knew this for a fact. Maybe it was true to the both of them ever since his mom had died, they began to lean on each other; becoming one another's lifelines.

If something were to happen to either of them, the other wouldn't be able to bear it. Stiles was just as overprotective and paranoid when it came to his father as his father was when it came to him. It seemed only appropriate.

Stiles fumbled with the knob, and stepped into his office.

John Stilinski was standing with his back facing his son, he probably hadn't heard him come in since he was too busy digging through several yanked open cupboards, leaking files, files and more files. His father's cluttered work place always looked the same; an ocean of overflowing stuff, staplers, markers and pin boards. Stiles always thought that with all the pressure on his father; the interiors of his office were a reflection of what the inside of the man's head looked like. "Key, key. Where did I leave it?" he was muttering, under his breath.

"You keep your car keys in the last drawer on the left, you've even marked it in bright neon and you still manage to forget every time," Stiles reminded, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting his body weight rather awkwardly. "Oh. Right, right..." his voice trailed off, carefully, John turned around, and then he was staring at his son, eyes wide and disbelieving, lips parted in shock; his entire face went chalky white. "Hey, dad," he mustered a smile.

Scott slid in behind him and shot Mr. Stilinski a curt nod that basically indicated that he was himself again. For a couple of tense moments, his father just stood there, frozen in place, barely breathing, unblinking; caught completely off-guard. Stiles had to look away, because meeting people's eyes was beginning to feel tiresome. Especially when everyone looked at him like they were looking at him from six feet above ground. Especially when it felt like he'd been buried alive, ever since he'd escaped Void, as if he was stuck in a casket, and passer bys, friends and family were all saying their last goodbyes.

Stiles' stomach dropped, he suddenly felt like there was a hole in his chest. Maybe there was.

And then, to his absolute surprise, Mr. Stilinski rushed over and wrapped him in a bear hug. It took Stiles a second or two to remind himself of how hugging worked, before he wrapped his arms around his dad in response. Mr. Stilinski patted him on the back once, twice. Stiles breathed in the scent he was so familiar with: laundry detergent and cologne; to make it tangible, to make it real. He was alive. He had crawled out of his own grave, and this was proof that there was still hope. "My son," he said. "I... I can't believe it."

"I know you must be pissed, I didn't mean to -"

"I know, kiddo. I know."

"You're not mad?"

"Frankly, dunno yet. I'll make my decision later. Right now, I just want to make sure this is real."

"It's real, Pops."

When he let go, he was beaming at him; looking at him like he was seeing him - really _seeing_ him, for the first time. "So, Spiderman. When did that happen?"

"It's a long story,"

"And I want to hear every gruesome detail. You did go off to battle the Green Goblin in the middle of the night countless times, most teenagers sneak out to go to concerts and parties, and of course my son goes about saving the world from monsters,"

"It's not really like that," Stiles said, feeling his ears turn pink. "I've never been more proud of you," Mr. Stilinski said, leaving him floored. "Really?"

"Spiderman has changed the world, what we believe, what our limits are. You're a revolutionary. My son's a revolutionary!"

"Well then," he joked. "Keep the flattery coming and things should be just alright,"

"Well, I'm also equally mad,"

"I thought you were deciding,"

"Yeah, I'm decided. But we can figure out your punishment later."

"I'll do all my laundry and I'll keep my room clean and I'll arrange all of your files in alphabetical order and -"

"And _I'll_ take you to Disneyland and we can have breakfast foods for dinner and we can go grab ice cream every night - I know I've been hard on you, and everything has been overwhelming what with superpowered freaks running loose, but you're alive and doing good, and that's all that matters." Mr. Stilinski said.

Stiles felt something warm spread through the hole in his chest, like sunlight, like home, like the prospect of something broken being glued back together again.

xxxxx

"I'm terrified," Stiles admitted, as Scott drove him back home that evening.

Scott was quiet, not because he didn't have a response, but because he knew Stiles wasn't finished. "I remember everything I did," he went on. "I hurt so many people. I... I tortured and... and Spiderman's a criminal now, wanted by the FBI; dead or alive. This was not what he was supposed to symbolize. Void turned my only weapon against me. Now he symbolizes darkness and ruination and plague. Spiderman was supposed to be a beacon of light, he was supposed to be the good guy," Stiles was ranting now, but he couldn't help himself.

"Everyone's got a good side and a bad side. The world isn't divided in blacks and whites. So Spiderman made a mistake, that doesn't mean he shouldn't deserve redemption. Get back out there, in your _red_ cape, and remind this city what he stands for - what _you_ stand for,"

"If they don't shoot me on sight," Stiles muttered grumpily.

"I was a monster, Scott. I injured you, Allison. And Lydia... I wouldn't blame her if she never looked at me again."

"It wasn't you,"

"I should've fought harder."

"You did your best. Now stop with the superman complex and the self-pity. You're not a magician. And you may have been bitten by a radioactive insect -"

" _Arachnid_ ," Stiles corrected.

"Whatever, _Geeknator 3000,_ but you're still human."

Stiles stared out the window, at the street lights forming whimsical patterns on the winding roads in the parting light of the dimming sun, he stared at all these people whizzing past him, wearing their own masks whilst they fought their inner demons, smiling and laughing and cursing and stomping. He stared at the trees lining the sidewalks, evergreen and brooding silently. He wondered what they would have to say about the world if they could speak. He stared at his own reflection, and something ghostly behind his own eyes made his heart collapse into his stomach. "We still have Stern to worry about," Scott said. "You must have extra dirt on him after playing his pet for so long, so that's good. Right?"

Stiles just nodded. "The city's lost faith,"

"So you lose faith too. Are you really just going to give up? Because there are only two kinds of people who give up: losers and cowards, and if I'm friends with you, I know for a fact that you're neither of the two, so get your shit together and shake it off."

It was easier said than done. Scott was right of course, he was one hundred percent right, but he also hadn't suffered like that. He hadn't watched his own hands, his own mouth, work against his will. He hadn't felt powerless against his own body. He hadn't experienced first-hand, what Void was capable of doing; what he wanted to do.

He wasn't disgusted by himself, and he didn't even have a reason to be. He didn't know what it was like, to feel like you'd been betrayed by yourself.

Stiles felt like scum, and it was chewing him up from the inside.

His father had forgiven him, but he didn't even want to think of the things he must have put him through. John Stilinski had looked more exasperated than ever, there were shadows swimming under his eyes, and Stiles was sure he'd downed half of the city's whiskey supply in worry over him. _Because_ of him. Lydia Martin was probably locked up in her room, weeping her sanity away like she'd done when she thought he was dead. _Because_ of him.

"After everything I put you through, aren't you at least a little mad?" Stiles questioned, earnestly.

Scott kept staring straight ahead at the road, avoiding his gaze before he answered. "Of course I am. I would love to declare bloody murder on your pasty ass right now, but I have myself under control because I know that wouldn't be that right thing to do, it would be the stupid thing to do. And I don't _do_ stupid." Scott explained.

"Gee, thanks," Stiles said, dryly.

"You're my best friend, you dumbass. And I know my best friend. The blood he shed is _not_ on your hands."

"He was me, Scott. That's the thing. I wasn't possessed or being controlled by one of Stern's minions. What he did to me... It just brought out the worst parts of myself. All the terrible things he did are all terrible things that I'm capable of,"

"Even Jesus probably dealt drugs as a guilty pleasure. What I'm trying to say is, if it were me and Stern had done that to me, I would have been a monster, too. What matters is that you feel the guilt, you acknowledge it, and in doing so you remind yourself that you're still a _person_ , and then you kick the guilt's ass."

For once, Scott's inapt analogies actually made him feel a teensy bit better.

They pulled into his driveway and Scott nudged him lightly, his smirk infectious. "You're going to be okay, Mary Poppins, now get out of my car and go take a nap. You look like literal death."

xxxxx

The darkness was pouring into every corner.

It was in his ears, it was in his blood, it was in his heart.

Blackness; the color of oblivion, the color of eternal night.

Void was laughing. Eyes red lights flashing. A highway that led to nowhere.

Fear clasped his heart, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.

He was paralyzed, he couldn't move a limb. It was like half of his body was encased in ice.

When he woke up, he was sweating, panting, being choked to death. "What the hell is happening to me?" he gasped to himself. A voice in his head that still sounded like his evil twin responded with a vicious, gut-churning snicker. "You're dying, Stiilless," the slurring of a snake, the shot fired, a screaming sky.

Everything was void.


	26. And The Moon

**A/N: We're almost to the end! There are only a few more chapters to go. The story's going to be taking a sort of present/flashback approach from this chapter onwards. Anyway, DROP ME A REVIEW or get CURSED. You know how it goes. MwHAhaHAhaHAhahA.**

* * *

 _Cold bones, yeah, that's my love,_  
 _she hides away, like a ghost,_  
 _does she know that we bleed the same?_

* * *

Lydia

Lydia Martin was pissed off.

She didn't get pissed off often, but when she did, everything was black waters and the world around her seemed like it was on fire. She didn't exactly know _what_ she was pissed off about, or _who_ she was pissy at. Everyone. Everything.

Stiles Idiot Stilinski.

It'd been a week since they'd brought him back, and she'd been avoiding him like the plague, to be fair, he'd been avoiding her right back. Their relationship felt like an endless cycle of miseries and torments, stones and gum stuck to the soles of a brand new pair of shoes.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, she kept thinking how unfair it all was, how Stiles deserved better than the PTSD that had been driving him nuts, despite the fact that she was physically keeping her temporary distance; she kept tabs on him and asked for regular updates from Scott and Allison.

Scott told her that he was pretending like everything was fine, but that he was corroding on the inside.

Typical egoistic male.

Why couldn't he just admit that he was suffering? If he needed help, all he had to do was ask. He didn't have to pretend like balancing cityscapes and kingdoms on his shoulders everyday wasn't breaking his spine and killing his spirit.

Lydia was so worried. Especially after hearing about the boy's nightmares. He wouldn't tell Scott of them in vivid detail, but he mentioned hellhounds, blood, fire. He mentioned Void, tormenting him from the depths of Tartarus where he probably thrived. With those venomous eyes of his, and that taunting gaze that still burned against her skin like volcanic ash.

Lydia glanced at the digital alarm on her nightstand, it was five to three in the morning. The bashful moon peered at her from behind the translucent lace curtains in her room. Blocks of moonlight cast dancing mirages across her walls.

Lydia used to make stories out of them when she was a little girl, it was like fabricating shapes from clouds. Bouquets of light becoming fairies who fought for their lives, dragons and princesses in towers. Animals of all sorts. Secret languages that existed only in her head. Symbols from otherworlds. Musical notes.

She found herself doing it again, watching trails of light gallop across her room. It was distracting and healing; it made her feel slightly better about the world. Lydia continued to stare, sleep a distant continent just barely out of her grasp.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed. At first, she thought the sound was in her head, but she felt it vibrate against the cool wood of her bedside table.

She grabbed it and the screen flashed his name, an incoming text.

Stiles Stilinski: I'm sorry we haven't spoken in a week. Sorry for the other stuff too. I'm ashamed.

Lydia frowned. For a moment, she almost felt like tossing her phone against the wall, rage unfurling like an ugly flower inside the pit of her stomach; and then evaporating like vapor. She wondered if the day would ever come, when she could actually stay mad at that boy.

Lydia took a deep breath, and replied.

Lydia Martin: It was NOT your fault, Stiles.

 _Why was he up so late and messaging her? Were the nightmares back?_ She groaned internally, he was not helping her situation at all, he was just making her feel a dozen times more distraught.

Her phone beeped again.

Stiles Stilinski: The words came out of my mouth. My hands pinned you against that wall. Ergo, Martin. It is very much MY fault.

Stiles Stilinski: Why are you up so late?

Lydia Martin: Don't be ridiculous. You were under Void's thrall. You have nobody to blame except for Stern and his despicable accomplices. And I couldn't sleep.

Stiles Stilinski: Go to sleep. It's late.

Lydia Martin: Don't tell me what to do. And instead of bossing me around, why don't you take your own advice and do the same?

Stiles Stilinski: I can't sleep, either.

Lydia Martin: Why?

Stiles Stilinski: PTSD's a bitch.

Stiles Stilinski: Why can't you?

Lydia Martin: Life's a bitch.

Lydia Martin: Understandable.

Stiles Stilinski: Understandable.

Lydia Martin (Unsent): I miss you...

She stared at the phone screen, and then clicked on Stiles' contact icon. It was an absolutely adorable picture of him, his burnt wood eyes all big and goofy, his smile was wider than the horizon, he wore a bright blue t-shirt, his hair was mussed up and there was something else in his eyes: fleeting happiness; like he was caught in a sugarplum moment.

Lydia wished she could freeze him like that forever.

The icon got wider and began to blink. He was calling her.

Lydia closed her eyes for a moment, debating on whether she was ready to speak to him after a week of silence. She opened her eyes and picked up, pressing her ear to the screen softly.

"It's been 84 years," Stiles began, jokingly, which, in turn, made Lydia burst into laughter, it wasn't the joke that was funny, it was more like their situation; and how he found a way to make her smile even on the darkest of days.

It was how his voice still filled the room like an explosion, how the world was an obstacle race, constantly hurtling flaming shit their way, and how despite the fact that they were unsuccessful at dodging these road blocks, they were able to get back up again and run, no matter how hard they got hit.

It was also possibly the fact that Stiles' Rose impression was absolutely theatric and rather cringe-worthy.

"Seriously, Martin. You okay?"

"Define okay."

"I'll rephrase. Do you like, totally hate me now?"

"No,"

"That worries me."

"It's a good thing, idiot."

"I don't deserve to be forgiven."

"If you're going to give me one more bullshit self-pitying line I'm going to materialize through this phone and smack you." Lydia snapped, irritably.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Although, I really wouldn't mind the you materializing-through-this-phone part. I'd quite enjoy it, even. Getting to see you again."

"Alright, Romeo. Let me go get my magic wand."

"If I can't have you, at least I can have this phone call. It's good to hear your voice again, Miss Martin. You sound as luscious as ever."

"And _you_ sound like a creep."

"Yeah? That means I nailed it. I was doing my best Void impression," Lydia heard it, she hadn't caught it before, but she did now - the slur in his enunciation.

"You've been drinking," she stated, dryly. "Keen observation," Stiles replied.

Lydia felt some of that rage return. "Is that what you're planning to do, then? Wallow around in self-pity? Drink yourself to death? It's like you really did die that day. It's like you're letting him win."

"What do you want me to do? The whole world hates Spiderman, my dad still points his gun at me everytime I'm up at four am having cereal because he's afraid that I've been 'possessed' again, you can barely stand to look at me. He's ruined my life."

"Your life's not in ruins," Lydia snapped. "You're alive, and you've still got all of the people who love you."

He was right about the world hating Spiderman, but there were still people out there who loved him, who believed in him. He could make this right. Spiderman could be reborn. Bigger and brighter.

"Spiderman has inspired the world before, he can do it again. Make a televised speech. Put out some fires. Remind them what you stand for."

"I'm a criminal, Martin. If I make an appearance, what's to keep them from dragging my ass to court or shooting me on sight?"

"You tell them you were working undercover with Stern. We gather some dirt, we expose Wolfram & Hart; there's your loophole."

"What about you?" he said. "How will I ever be able to face you again, Lydia?"

That was a trickier conundrum.

Void had rattled her very bones, and she still had flashbacks to the way he'd grabbed her, the way he'd pressed his lips cold against hers, the way he treated her like a ragdoll; a prized possession to be showcased and pinned up on a wall. The way he'd assaulted her. It was not Stiles. None of it was Stiles. But that thing had been wearing Stiles' face.

And so, some part of her brain still panicked everytime he got too close. The kiss had been an exception, all she'd been thinking then was that she needed to help him catch his breath or they would have to call an ambulance, but even then, it had been terrifying.

Even listening to him breathe made her spine curl and an anxiety bomb drop in her gut. It was going to take a while, and some work, they'd both been damaged by Void's massacre of an appearance, but they could be mended.

"Stiles," she breathed, clutching the phone with knuckles white and dropping back into bed, pretending that she was actually holding on to him instead of a piece of metal. "I think... I think we just need some time and some space and we'll make it through this. I'm sorry that I'm so uncomfortable around you, it must feel like being punished for a crime you didn't commit but -"

"But he _tormented_ you, he _abused_ you. God knows what he would've done if -"

"Hey, hey. Let's not dwell on 'ifs' and 'buts'. It didn't happen."

"But it could have. And the thought itself makes me sick, Lydia, I - I'm so sorry. I'm _so_ sorry for everything he did to you. If I could take it all back, if there was anything I could do, go back in time, turn things around, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I... I just want you to know that."

"I know."

"You're still everything that matters in my life."

"I know."

"Do you think we'll be alright?"

Lydia felt her eyes sting, she was still clutching the phone extremely tightly.

"We'll be alright."

"Let's talk about something else,"

"Okay," Stiles said, then, "like what?"

"I don't know. Weather? Sports? The messed up economy?" Lydia muttered, despite the lightness of her tone, her words came out dry.

"We don't even have to talk. We can just be quiet." Stiles suggested.

So they were just quiet for a few minutes, holding their phones tightly to their ears, listening to the other breathe and the dim drone of the static in the line.

"You were right. Death doesn't happen to you. It happens to everyone around you." Lydia said, mousily, after a few rounds of silence.

"What?"

"When you died, or - when everyone thought you were dead. I think, I _know_ , I felt dead too, partially anyway."

Stiles sighed on the other end of the line. He was quiet for a long time, another bout of silence followed, so she closed her eyes and imagined herself in the woods somewhere, listening to a gurgling stream, the mental image almost always brought her peace of mind, helped her clear her clattered head.

"I never thought getting something I wanted would hurt this much," he confessed, "It's like having a cursed Christmas wish list."

Lydia almost smiled. He was talking about her, about how he'd finally gotten her and how life had been nothing but a catalogue of pain after that.

"You know what they say," Lydia muttered. "Be careful what you wish for."

"Don't care. I'm glad I made the wish."

"Me too."

"We're both just self-loathing sadists then," Stiles chuckled, dryly.

"I can live with that," Lydia said.

His voice was just an electric frequency, a whisper, he was in some other part of the city, in another home, in another bed.

"Can you see the moon from where you are?"

"Yeah, it's staring at me like it wants to eat me for breakfast."

"I can see it, too. Maybe that'll be enough for right now."

"It's enough for tonight," Stiles agreed.

She stared at the moon that he was probably staring at too, luminescent and magical; almost mythical, like a unicorn.

She took comfort in the fact that they could share that moment, of looking up at the sky at the same time, pretending like it wasn't the night sky they were staring into, but one another's eyes.

It was a cold night, but there was warmth in his disembodied presence, there was warmth in knowing they shared the same sky, the same moon, the same blood.

"Stiles," she said, after another quiet moment. "Yeah?"

"I love you."

There was a sharp intake of breath, and then the line went dead.

He didn't say it back.

Lydia listened to the ghost silence for a couple of disillusioned seconds, and then put the phone down. Something in her heart felt like it had been stabbed.

xxxxx

Stiles

{Two Weeks Later}

This was what the end of the world looked like.

Like something out of a horror movie, the dark; gruesome and volatile cinematography of it all. The dancing fires, the charred remains of a city that once thrived; a remote universe. When he first laid eyes on a ruined New York City, he thought he must surely be dreaming. Maybe that's what it was - Inception in real life; a dream realm of some sort.

It never seemed real.

People talked about the world ending all the time, he'd read it in newspapers, predictions about how it would all go down, in disease or ice or fire or storm. The Zombie Apocalypse, World War 3, nuclear warfare, Kim Kardashian's butt, okay - not that last one.

But he'd hear about destruction and wars in faraway cities, about lives going up in smoke, catastrophes so great they felt biblical.

And still...

It never seemed real.

Not until he saw it with his own eyes, how terrible people could be, the extents they could go to; fulfilling all the nine levels of hell, making the devil proud. When he saw it with his own eyes, he felt like he was bleeding, like his life was withering away and turning to ash, like everything he'd ever believed in was going up in tendrils of shadows; the tentacles of a sinister monster gripping at every dream he ever forged as a child. Bodies had lined the streets like artwork, bracelets of bones and blood. It had been repelling.

"They've destroyed New York, are we going to let them target the rest of the world, too before we actually do something about it?" Scott snapped, tetchily.

"It's not that simple," Stiles muttered.

"It sounds simple to me," Allison's mouth was a straight line, she was still upset over being kidnapped by Stern's goons and then being beaten and overpowered by a monster wearing an eighteen-year-old's face.

"New York's a graveyard, I can't deal with this anymore. Stern's done enough. He's done _enough_. I'm going to tear Wolfram  & Hart down, dissect them limb from limb, make them beg on their knees; even if it kills me," black fire determination simmered in her irises.

The whole of New York City had been sealed off from the rest of the world, when the attacks had begun, Spiderman, along with the NYPD and multiple SWAT teams, had managed to call on a citywide evacuation, to get as many citizens to safety as possible.

They'd succeeded in getting at least eighty-percent of the people to safe zones out of immediate danger, which, according to Mr. Stilinski, was a miracle number; but there were people who couldn't get out in time, people who were burned in the crossfires of Wolfram & Hart's fatal game. Even the air spaces were blocked by the superpowered crazies that were whizzing about, shooting down any military vehicles that took flight including helicopters and military jets.

It was a massacre, the whole world was in a frenzy after the supposed downfall of New York City, social media was going nuts, the other nations were afraid because Stern and his goons promised to spread the virus if any foreign forces so much as tried to entire the city.

It was up to Spiderman and his friends to save their city from dying out completely.

And they were just standing there, in Derek's warehouse; bickering and discombobulated.

"We're just a bunch of teenagers," Malia was on two mindsets about everything. "How are we supposed to save the world?"

"We have to try," Scott snapped. "We're it's only hope."

"So what's your brilliant plan, then?" Isaac asked. "We fight," Allison said. "Tackle the root, derail the virus."

"We formulate an actual _plan_ ; a strategy, instead of underestimating our adversaries and getting ourselves foolishly killed as suggested by my lovely girlfriend," Scott derided.

"Excuse me? Your plans suck, and they always involve something equally stupid. At least if we get into the thick of it guns blazing; we can terrify them; get them all rattled." Allison shot back.

"Or we can get ourselves killed and we'll be no good to anyone dead in the ground."

"You both have to calm down and give me a second to think this through," Stiles ordered. His eyes bounced off Lydia's silent figure, she was standing by Derek's window, staring at the burning city before them.

"You're uncharacteristically quiet," he told her, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I think we should find Derek before we do anything at all," Lydia said, whirling around to glance at them. "We're out of our league here," she cajoled.

"Right," Stiles muttered. "Because the wallowing manly man who thinks he's smarter than all of us is the solution to our problem."

"He _is_ smarter than all of us," Scott said, to his surprise. "Exactly, and he's had fifty times more experience than any of us. You might be Spiderman, Stiles, but he's an alpha. He's been at this for years longer. We need him,"

"Lydia's right. Plus, he wouldn't just skip off on us," Scott considered.

"You sure about that?" Stiles still wasn't sure whether he completely trusted the dude who always looked at him like he wanted to tear his jugular out and stick it to his forehead simply for sport.

"I'm sure," Scott gritted his teeth. "New York's huge, we can't just go off on a man hunt," Allison reasoned. "We're werewolves. We could track each other down in the middle of tornado if we wanted to," Isaac clarified. "So that's what we'll do. We'll split up. Some of us can go look for Derek, and some of us can do damage control."

"Dibs on damage control," Allison muttered, looking giddy and unwavering; like she just needed an ass to kick. "Alright, alright. Scott, do you volunteer to go looking for Derek?" Stiles grilled.

"I'll do it," Scott nodded. "I'll help," Isaac pitched in.

"I'd like to be on Team Damage Control," Malia pondered. "Lydia can come with us," Scott said.

"Why?" Stiles asked. "We need the banshee, just to make sure..." his voice trailed off.

Lydia simply scoffed. "Just to make sure he isn't dead in a ditch somewhere," she finished, rather off-handedly.

"I don't want her getting hurt," Stiles said, immediately. He wasn't trying to be condescending, his concern for her well being was instinct; she was a part of him, still infused in his blood - she always would be.

He was concerned for her like he was concerned for his own limbs.

"I can take care of myself. I don't need your stupid boy ego deciding what I can and cannot participate in, plus, you don't have that right over me anymore," Lydia's eyes shot daggers his way, he dodged them, but he still felt a phantom pain erupt in his chest at her words.

Lydia was still mad at him for not telling he loved her back that night, and for the other thing. He wasn't sure he could blame her for being pissed about that.

Isaac furrowed his eyebrows, "Not to be insensitive, but can we postpone your relationship squabbling until after we've saved the city?"

"Oh, I promise you, there'll be no squabbling whatsoever," Lydia snapped.

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "We should get going," he said.

"There's no time to waste,"

"Certainly," Lydia agreed, already grabbing Scott's arm and making a beeline for the door.

Isaac followed them out, and Stiles was left with a bored Malia Tate and a wired Allison Argent by his side.

"What are we waiting for?" Allison asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

 _An awkward team-up with my ex-girlfriend and my current girlfriend's best friend. This should be interesting._

Stiles took a step forward. "Absolutely nothing. Let's go."

xxxxx

Allison Argent really wasn't taking shit from anyone.

"I promise I'll be fine," she said. "Just please let me do this."

"Is that why you didn't want to go with Scott?"

"That's precisely why. We both know he would never let me do this,"

"And what makes you think _I'm_ going to let you do this?" Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Us girls, we can handle ourselves," Malia said, shooting an approving smile at Allison. "I'll go with her if you want, she'll be fine,"

"I'll be great. I _need_ to do this, Stiles. I can't sleep at night because of what that jerk and his brother did to me... or tried to do, anyway. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still hear them laughing. He has to pay for what he did. I've tracked him down, all I have to do now is break him like he broke me. A tit for a tat."

"Revenge is never the solution," Stiles mustered.

"You're right, but he's a criminal whose contributed to the destruction of this city. If there's anyone who deserves an ass-kicking, it's probably him."

Unfortunately, she made a point. Also unfortunately, Scott was going to eat him for breakfast if he found out that he'd let Allison run off on a murderous rampage that could, potentially, get her killed. Stiles may be a superhuman with radioactive spider powers running through his veins, but anyone who'd seen Scott in werewolf action would be justified in their terror of him. The guy had shark teeth for nails and needles for fangs.

Now that Stiles was thinking of it, there really was no fortunate side to all of this.

Allison was talking about the twin who'd escaped the fire, the one still alive and kicking, the one who hadn't paid the price for kidnapping her, the one who'd escaped.

"Just... promise me you won't kill the guy," Stiles said, finally, with a defeated sigh.

"Why not?" Malia groaned, almost petulantly, which made Stiles and Allison both questioningly gawk at her.

" _What?_ I'm a coyote, it's in our nature," Malia said, in a way of justification.

"I won't," Allison assured.

"Can we at least make him _think_ we're going to kill him?" Malia questioned, with those innocent brown eyes of hers, it was difficult to picture her setting buildings on fire and biting people's noses off.

"Oh _hell_ yes," the brunette muttered, something dark and dead-set glimmering in her eyes; something like gunpowder and ashes.

"I'm going to go after a couple of old friends in the mean time," Stiles decided, "I bet they're up to no good."

Yin and Yang. They were out there somewhere. Maybe he could question them, maybe they still thought he was Void, maybe he could squeeze some information out of them.

"We'll catch up with you," Malia said. "Just leave me your scent."

"What?"

"Oh, you know what I mean."

Stiles yanked a sock out of the backseat of his jeep, he wasn't quite sure how it had gotten there, all he knew was that it would do the trick.

"That looks poisonous,"

"It's all I've got."

"Ugh! Fine," Malia mumbled. Allison was already walking off. "Later, Spider-boy,"

"Please take care of yourselves," Stiles begged.

"Right back at ya!" They called back.

He really hoped he hadn't just let his friends casually walk into their deaths. But he had full belief in Allison's potential, she was strong, and reasonable; and she was a badass with an arrow. Malia, too, was wild at heart. They would be alright. He had to be believe that. Scott, Isaac and Lydia too. If he spent his whole time worrying about other people, he was never going to be able to focus on the task at hand.

It was time for a solo mission, and although he loved having his comrades by his side, he'd missed swinging from tower to tower, the exhilaration, the thrill, watching his own splotchy red reflection zipping past crystal-clear buildings. It was doing what he did best.

Everything had changed, the city was in ruins, lives were at stake, he'd gotten Lydia, just to lose her again. But at least he still had this. At least he still had his suit, the silky streets and the moon.

Spiderman leapt up into the sky.

* * *

 **A/N AGAIN: Where's My Love By SYML has officially been crowned the most romantic song EVER. Can't you guys just imagine this song playing during their phone conversation in this fic? UGH I HAVE REACHED STYDIA HELL SOMEONE CALL 911 UGH FEELS EVERYWHERE I'M ON FIRE!**


	27. Where The Wolves Go

**A/N: I SWEAR TO GOD PLEASE REVIEW MORE OR I'M GOING TO STOP UPLOADING NEW CHAPTERS OK.**

 **Okay. I apologize for the blackmail. Just please guys, it isn't really asking for much. Your response is what keeps me writing. P.S it would be super cool if anyone wanted to say, make an edit or fanvid based on this fic and tag me on it on tumblr... (my url is winterblues, you can even use the hashtag #blackwebs)**

 **If you do it, that would be really cool.**

 **Anyway enjoy.**

* * *

 _Two feet standing on a principle,_  
 _two hands longing for each other's warmth_  
 _cold smoke seeping out of colder throats_  
 _darkness falling, leaves nowhere to go_  
 _it's spiralling down_  
 _biting words like a wolf howl_  
 _hate is spitting out each others mouths_  
 _but we're still sleeping like we're lovers_ **  
**

* * *

 **TWO WEEKS AGO**

 _I chime in with a "Haven't you people ever heard of closing the goddamn door?!"  
No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality..._

 _Kisses under starry night skies, talked about in song, we play along, so bitter sweet by our design..._

 _At first I thought you were a constellation. I made a map of all your stars and had a revelation. You're as beautiful as endless. You're the universe I'm helpless in..._

Someone was ringing the doorbell. He really didn't want to answer it. He wanted to close his eyes, lose himself in his music, and wallow. He thought he ought to deserve a good ol' wallowing session. In his circumstances, he deserved an oil massage, a free ticket to the best spa in the world, and maybe some therapeutic sex. Instead, all he was asking for was one wallowing session before he got back on his feet and faced the real world.

The real world didn't give a damn about his feelings, or about how exhausted he was, or about how his nightmares kept him up all night, and how the sun kept him up all day.

Someone rang the doorbell again. Stiles checked his watch. It was two in the morning, and his father was probably out like a light. He heaved a dramatic sigh and paused his music, yanking off his headphones and stretching a little so that his muscles cooperated with him as he struggled to get off of his bed.

When his feet touched the ground, the floorboards felt like ice bergs. It was nearing winter, and New York, traditional to its gelid history, was keeping its frosty promises.

He caught a fleeting glance of his own ghostly face in the full-length mirror by his closet as he made his way towards the staircase that led downstairs.

Sometimes he could barely recognize his own face. It had changed drastically after Void had perversely invaded his body. The dark circles were ever-present shadows, his face felt pallid instead of pale, his hair was always a bedraggled mess that he didn't bother fixing anymore. There was a bleary, defeated kid living in his irises, and he had his blinds down; blocking out the world he once welcomed with wondrous, wandering light. His t-shirt and pajama pants were crinkled because he'd been wearing them for the past two days. There was a coffee stain at the hem of it; one which's emergence he couldn't quite remember.

He was a disaster and he knew it.

 _I'll fix myself, for them._

 _I can pretend, at least. I can pretend._

He made his way down the staircase and yanked open the door. When he caught sight of who was standing before it, he swore his heart stopped for a few seconds. When it began to beat again, his stomach erupted in a massive explosion of butterfly parades.

If he was going to feel like The Hunger Games was taking place inside of him every single time he saw that girl, he really was going to need to keep an ambulance on speed dial.

He wasn't sure what to say to her, so he said nothing.

Lydia just stood there, her cheeks were turning red from the cold, she was wearing that emerald coat of hers she loved so much, her fire-laced hair was a lovely juxtaposition to the wintry dimness of everything else. Her breath made puffy smoke angels that fluttered towards him. He wished to catch one and put it in a jar.

Lydia's eyes still shined like yellow christmas lights strung up on snow caked houses.

"Lydia," he breathed, because the silence was getting quite nerve-racking.

"You're at my house," he said, dryly.

"Look. I - I know, I know you're going to ask me why I'm here. Truth is, I'm not completely sure what I'm doing here, either. I might have drank a teensy bit more than I should. And I might be seeing stars right now. And I might have mistaken your house for mine,"

Stiles pressed a finger to his temple, before opening the door wider.

"You should come inside," he said. "No, no. That would be a bad idea. Very bad."

"You're wasted, and I can't leave you out there in the cold or you're going to pass out."

"Yes, or get hit by a tree," she said, making absolutely no sense. Lydia then frowned, eyes still shining and glassy. "I just remembered that I don't want to be around you right now."

"Of course you don't," he muttered. "But... Look, just come inside. You can sleep on the bed. I'll take the couch. You're too drunk to drive and I don't think I have the energy to drive you."

"The old Stiles would have drove me. He would've drove me to the face of the moon if I asked."

"Lydia," he felt like his heart had been clenched by one of those machines used to snatch toys up at carnivals. "I'm sorry."

He took a step forward, and she took a step back. It was only now that he noticed how her whole body was shivering. "Jesus, Lydia. Come on, please," he insisted, extending an arm to pull her in. Lydia retaliated, snapping his hand back with instant reflexes, so very quickly that he was actually startled.

He took five steps backwards and raised his hands up in surrender.

"I... I won't touch you, okay? I promise. Just... come inside," he urged.

Everything inside him was falling, tumbling, collapsing.

Lydia took a deep breath and nodded, stepping in, he could tell how cautious she was being, even in her disillusioned state. He slipped past her without laying a finger on her, making sure even their shoulders did not brush, and shut the door. Her teeth were clattering.

"Let's go upstairs. I'll make you something warm to drink and give you a blanket."

Lydia simply stared at him, there were dried tears lacing her cheeks. He felt like a monster.

"I hate you," she managed. Stiles took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he shook his head no, with a small, almost miserable smile. "No, you don't."

"I should," she said, then, "I should hate you."

She sounded upset. At him. At herself. At the world.

He could see his own rusty gold eyes reflected in the windows, drenched in the pale light. Lydia's emerald ones were meteors, hurtling, fiery; directly at him.

He led her upstairs, still without touching her. She followed quietly. He didn't have to hold her hand to tell that her skin was cold. "Lydia," he began again, sounding flimsy as ever.

"Don't," she said, raising a hand like _stop_. "Just, don't."

He nodded silently, and she curled into his bed. He wanted to kiss her forehead, but he had lost that privilege. He could feel her eyes on him as he stumbled downstairs to make her a cup of hot chocolate.

When he returned, she was already sound asleep. So he downed the warm drink himself.

He walked over after, and extremely carefully, making sure that even his fingers didn't brush her skin, took off her boots and put them aside. Then, he yanked his own blanket off the other side of the bed and draped it over her sleeping figure. She was picturesque in peaceful slumber.

And when she slept, he could almost pretend things were the same as they had been before Void. It was a dreamy mirage, one that he took with him as he tucked himself into the couch he would call bed for the night.

 _I should have said 'I love you' back. I should have told you how you make my skin crawl. I should have shielded you from those mighty black specters. I should have reminded you what it feels like to burrow inside each other. We could sink into the forest where the wolves go._

 _But you already knew all of that, didn't you?_

 **PRESENT DAY**

Lydia

It was like something out of a video game, or one of those post-apocalyptic movies.

The skeletal remains of a dead city; _her_ city. Lydia had been born in a small suburbia called Beacon Hills somewhere in California, but her family had moved to New York when she was five years old, and so New York was all she knew. She'd been brought up here. She'd lived most of her life here. And now it felt like she was standing in debris, inside the heart of a black hole.

The scene made her knees blue and her head spin. "It's a disaster, isn't it?" murmured Scott, who was sauntering by her side; as they tracked Derek's scent. "It's scary," she admitted. "It's hard to imagine that the rest of the world is still normal, and that it's just us. By the looks of it, I feel like we've reached the end of it all."

"It's not going to be the end," Scott growled. "Stern and his minions may have won this round, but we're going to defeat them."

"That's the amount of faith you have in Stiles?"

"That's the amount of faith I have in myself," Scott muttered. "We're a part of this too."

Lydia nodded, and they were silent for a little while, before Scott spoke up again. "But I do believe in him, I always will. Not just because he's my best friend, but because to me, and to every single person out there whose life he's saved - he's a hero. Whether he accepts it or not. And the last time I checked, the heroes are supposed to be the good guys,"

"Maybe the world's not that black and white anymore."

"Hey," Scott said, pausing a moment. "I know the two of you are having a rough patch, but you two kids have got to sort this out. You know he loves you more than he's ever loved anything. He'll probably love you in death."

Sometimes, Scott's words resonated with her more than she would like to admit. Other times, they made her want to stuff a bun in his mouth to shut him up.

When she didn't respond, he huffed and continued. "My point is, don't give up on him just because there's a bump in the road."

"Even if it's a bump the size of a mountain?"

"Even then," Scott nodded.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Scott then said, talking this time, about Isaac rather than Stiles.

Isaac had gone off on his own. He'd told them he would be right back, but that there was something he needed to do first _, "in case we don't make it."_

"I think he's Derek's beta, which means he'll be just fine," Lydia replied. "You know, I noticed something about you today," she added. Scott rose an eyebrow. "Really? What?"

"You're a lot like him,"

"Like who?"

"Stiles. Your undeterred need to protect. The way you bleed for other people's pain but are blind to your very own. You're like a soldier. Stiles may be born to play superhero, but I think you were born to be a leader. Maybe you can have your own pack someday," then she added softly, "maybe you already do."

"Maybe," Scott agreed, after being quiet for a long time.

"Speaking of maybes, Lydia, tell me honestly. Will you ever be able to get over what happened with Void? Will you ever be able to love Stiles again?"

"I love Stiles right now. And, I think, a part of me always will. But if you're asking me if things can go back to how they used to be..."

"They can. Look... I'm not sure why I keep appointing myself as your shrink, but I know Void took something from you - from _both_ of you, I also know you can get it all back. Little by little every day," he insisted. "Because he needs you," Scott added. "And I think you need him too."

Lydia opened her mouth to comment on his comment, but suddenly lightning flashed before her eyes and she felt Scott grab her and yank her out of something's way. Her eyes squeezed shut instantly. She'd been pushed off the street. She fell face first in damp, bladed grass, her heart was a bullet train, her ears rang at the rancorous bombing sound that swarmed them. Scott was atop of her, he'd shielded her with his own body. He'd saved her life.

"Jesus," he murmured, coughing. "Another bomb."

"Scott, you're very weighty," Lydia squeaked, feeling crushed beneath his mass.

"Oh," he said, dismounting her. "I'm sorry."

"Have they got those planted all over the city?" she managed.

"Sprinkled like candy." Scott affirmed, frowning.

There was soot on his face.

"Gosh," Lydia said, sitting up and brushing her pants. Smoke had infiltrated her nostrils, it was pouring into her eyes, blinding her. And it was on the streets, an untamable beast; violent as the sea. Everything was still ringing. She was going to have so much ear damage.

"We have to be more careful," Lydia acknowledged. "Extremely." Scott agreed.

He helped her up and then sighed. "Do you think Derek's okay?"

"He's not dead, if that's what you're asking," Lydia replied.

"How can you tell?"

"Oh, well, because I haven't received a phone call from Hades yet."

Scott simply stared at her. Of course he didn't know a thing about Greek Mythology.

Lydia tried again. "Because his ghost hasn't shown up for tea yet,"

"Really?" he narrowed his eyes, before blinking in realization.

"Okay, okay. I get it. You're smart, I'm stupid. I don't get how your entire banshee thing works."

"I don't get how it works either, and I'm one of the smartest people I know."

"Let's keep going," Scott said. "I think he's close,"

"Then why did you ask?"

"I said he's close, I didn't say I knew whether it was him I was smelling or his corpse."

"Let's hope for the former," they continued on their way, being extra cautious of random bombs, gunfires, feral dogs, space aliens, hooded figures: whatever it was that consisted of this terrifying new world.

xxxxx

"He's not dead," Scott muttered, when they finally found him; relief drenched his words.

"No, but he's on his way," Lydia remarked, gawking at the guy's slumped figure.

Derek Hale had been beaten to a pulp, and Lydia thought they were lucky they'd recognized him at all. He lay limply with his back against a barbed wire fence in an alleyway so derelict that it probably looked post-apocalyptic even before the city went to hell. It was heavy with the stinging stench of blood and urine, and the soupy air; hot with smoke, wasn't really making much of a case for the place. Lydia could almost see all of the murders slash drug deals slash alien abductions that had probably taken place there.

Isaac was crouched next to Derek, he looked grim. "He isn't healing, or - or... He's healing too slowly. I don't know what to do," he admitted. "Step aside," Lydia muttered, taking a couple of steps forward. Isaac blinked at her blankly. She didn't even think she had the time to roll her eyes.

"Isaac, I was a med student once. I know what I'm doing, now move before he _literally dies_ ," despite the credible conviction of her words, the boy looked to Scott for assurance.

Scott nodded. "Let the lady handle it."

Isaac shifted back and Lydia hurried over to examine the wolf boy.

Derek's t-shirt had been ripped to shreds, his side was bleeding heavily, and his breaths came in short, quick gasps. Lydia felt her stomach lurch at the blacks and blues across his face and arms. Even his forehead was matted with blood.

Sometimes, she wondered if there was some kind of cosmic interference that was dead set upon constantly ruining this pretty boy's pretty face.

Derek almost always looked like he'd just returned from a brawl with a bulldozer, a conquistador or a sizable Russian mob, and right now, he looked like he'd gone up against all three.

"Jesus," Lydia murmured. "What happened to you? A seven nation army?"

Derek opened his mouth, mumbled some incoherent words and then broke into a string of coughs. "Water," she said, immediately. "Get me some water. Hurry!"

Someone handed her a bottle, she didn't bother questioning it as she yanked loose the cap and pressed the mouth of it to his lips. "Drink," she ordered. "Come on."

He struggled a bit at first, but managed to intake a few sips. Then she put the bottle down and helped straighten his neck, which had been tilted at a grotesque angle, after which she produced a safety pin from her purse and jabbed it in one of his arms.

Derek howled. "What the hell?" Isaac yelped.

"It works like shock therapy," Lydia explained. "It startled him out of his funk. The slow healing process is often psychological, what he needed was a kick starter. The pain raced past the numbness."

It took Derek a few minutes, but he was able to form coherent sentences after that in no time, and Lydia could tell, from the lightening of some of the bruises across his cheeks that he was beginning to heal normally again. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Bloody hell," was Derek's first phrase, followed by a string of filthier profanities, some Lydia almost felt dirty just hearing out loud. And then, "You guys couldn't get here any faster," and "worst pack ever," and "I should've turned a group of ninjas or something instead of you ridiculous lot," and then finally, "Thank you, Lydia."

"You were in shock," she observed.

"They jumped me, they blew in out of nowhere. And at first I thought I could take them, I mean, it was three against one but I've taken on more adversaries in the past. They were quick as lightning, and... and they didn't tire. They were _rabid_."

"Derek," Scott said, carefully. "Who were 'they'?"

Derek got a faraway look in his eyes, the kind that always followed ominous sentences. Lydia's stomach turned once more, her throat felt like sandpaper; and so did his subsequent words.

"The dead," he replied. "They were all dead."

xxxxx

"Okay, he's obviously off his nutter," Scott muttered, irritably.

"How long have you been knocked out?" he then asked. "No," Lydia muttered, sharp realization feathering her features, her heart stretching to cling to her spine. "He's right."

Scott gaped at her, eyes wide and unbelieving. "The dead did this to him? Like... dead, what? Vampires? Huh? Zombies? Is this the real world or the CW?"

Lydia rolled her eyes. Derek growled, low and menacing. "We're werewolves, she's literally a banshee, we're fighting off a group of avengers gone rogue, and you're telling me you don't believe in dead things coming back to life?"

Scott sighed. "I was hoping that some things in this world were still abiding the laws of nature. I was hoping what was dead remained dead."

"Technically, they did remain dead. They were like... reanimated corpses."

Scott shook his head. "So like, _zombies_ , then,"

"That's simplifying it,"

"No, I'm pretty sure a bunch of dead guys waltzing around all rotted and shabby signify _zombies_." Scott insisted.

"Great. _Great!_ This day just keeps getting better and better. We go from being on the X Files to The Walking Dead within seconds. We're so out of our league here." Scott muttered, flouncing around with his cheeks all flushed; Lydia had come to realize that he got like that when he was anxious, all tomato-hot and blabby.

Lydia felt chills dancing up and down the bare skin of her arms, and she gasped. It suddenly felt like she was standing amidst a cemetery, the dead rising all around them, a full, electric moon staring her down; war bells tolling, everything feeling upside down.

"I believe him," Isaac interrupted, quietly.

Everyone turned to look at him, since he'd barely uttered a word since they'd gotten here. "My... my dad... he used to work for Wolfram & Hart," he began. "They treat their staff awfully. Turning real people into monotonous robots. And when they're done with them, they dispose of them. Wolfram & Hart has a lot of secrets, so it's pretty obvious that they wouldn't let their workers simply walk freely after they got fired from or left the job, so they..."

"They kill them," Derek nodded, understanding lighting his features.

"How do you know all this?"

"I've been spying on Wolfram & Hart since the past eight months. Ever since they disposed of my father,"

Lydia bit her lip. "Isaac," she began. "I'm so -"

" _Don't_ be, he was a jerk. But it's only now after I began looking into the company's history that I started to wonder if he was such a pathetic excuse of a human being because of their customary re-education services _,_ that they somehow made him this way _,_ rather than because of some type of inbuilt dysfunction," he explained.

"But that still doesn't explain the fact that their dead are suddenly walking again?" Scott said, inquisitively. "Well, they say there's always a reckoning," Isaac mumbled.

"What?"

"It's in a whole lot of legends from all over the world. Wherever there are massacres, eventually, maybe months, years, centuries after, there's a reckoning. _Always_."

"Stop being creepy," Scott said.

"Sorry," Isaac didn't look sorry.

"Wouldn't that put the zombies on _our_ side, if they're going after Wolfram  & Hart?"

"I'm not sure the dead pick _sides_ ,"

"I guess we'll find the answer to that when we raid Wolfram & Hart," muttered Lydia, with a sigh.

"Derek, how are you feeling?" she added. "Can you walk?"

His eyes sizzled with fury, the pained expression on his face told her that everything that was happening right now was out of his very worst nightmare, he hated being coddled, he hated feeling all weak and needy, he was supposed to be the ring leader, the one who had it all intact, and now he was unraveling at the seams just like everyone else and it was messing with his head. "Hey, Big-Shot," Lydia said, with a _get-over-yourself-you-moron_ smile.

"It's okay to be human sometimes."

Panic encrusted his features, and her smile dropped. "What? I only meant it figuratively," all of a sudden, Derek Hale was shaking like a leaf, his eyes wide, laced with pure, unmodified fear.

"What is it?" Isaac urged, catching on.

"I'm not healing," he replied, his bottom lip disappearing under the shield of his upper lip.

"They... I don't know how they did it,"

Lydia felt her own heart thumping hard against her ribcage. "Did what, Derek?" sometimes she wished she didn't have to ask questions she already knew the answers to.

"I'm human," he said, twitching up his nose in disgust. "I'm _human_ again."


	28. Empty Gold

**A/N: GUYS IT'S A GREAT TIME TO BE A STYDIA SHIPPER. THAT LAST EPISODE SLAYED MY POOR STYDIA HEART AND IT WAS JUST... JESUS CHRIST I REALLY HOPE THEY'RE ENDGAME NOW, THEY HAVE TO BE! FOR A SECOND I ACTUALLY THOUGHT LYDIA WAS DEAD AND I WAS READY TO PASS OUT BUT THEN SHE WOKE UP AND ALL WAS RIGHT IN THE WORLD AGAIN.**

 **"Stiles saved me."**

 **AhhhhhHhHAHhH! holier words have never been uttered.**

 **Anyway, back to our regularly scheduled programming. (p.s don't forget to leave a review!).**

* * *

 _It's down to me and you,_  
 _in this cold and empty street,_  
 _forgotten what we're living for.  
_

 _Don't let go yet,  
_ _don't settle for less,  
_ _and everything you are..._

 _why are we so incomplete?_  
 _when all I own is just dust and gold._

* * *

Stiles

It could be salvaged.

The diseased city still sprouted branches of hope.

The architecture for one, was still left standing, aside from some fires that had broken out in clusters in the streets, the buildings and the monuments; most of them, were still holding on. Of course they were, the structures of New York, despite of what all the apocalyptic movies would have one believe, were quite sturdy and not that easily damaged.

Spiderman could still see it all. The Chrysler Building, The Hudson River, the graceful silhouette of the mighty maiden in the distance; the Statue of Liberty still holding up her torch in ripened defiance of Wolfram & Hart's villainous actions. The vein of the city itself seemed to gleam red with rage or blood, Spiderman couldn't quite tell. This cityscape, this glimmering pearl necklace of skyline, this was a world within a world; a whimsical portrait that depicted all that they'd accomplished and all that they were yet to accomplish.

It would not go down without a fight.

For once, Spiderman thought, as he perched upon the roof of his favorite skyscraper, New York City was a bundle of darkness, only lit by the ravenous fires intent on devouring its beauty whole, and the dimming stars that hadn't been completely knocked out by the smog.

Determination bit back the melancholy of it all; of how close these ultra villains were coming to winning, of how many people out there would die while he went off to storm Yin & Yang, on his own agenda, of the consistent and pulsating fear in the back of his mind that made him imagine what would happen if he would die tonight.

He took one last look at the city and decided he would not watch it in ruins.

 _If I find today in a history book years into the future, I want to read about victory, not a conquest._

He found Yin & Yang about fifteen minutes later. He knew it was them because they were flashy and loud and couldn't resist theatrics as usual. He arrived at a night club downtown, music boomed loudly from it, it bled into his feet and made the ground jump up at him. It was the only building loud and alive, seemingly unfazed by the deadness of everything around it.

He could hear them cackling from outside the door.

Briefly, before heading inside, Spiderman let himself wonder whether Lydia and Scott were okay, if they'd found Derek Hale, he wondered whether Derek really was dead, he figured despite everything, he didn't really want him to be. He thought about Malia and Allison, he hoped they wouldn't let their passionate fury overpower their sensibilities.

He hoped he wouldn't have another dead body to add to the ever-growing list. He hoped he wouldn't have to add _himself_ to said list.

And then he sucked it up, took a deep breath, and kicked the door down.

Inside, strobe lights painted everything in hypnotic neon colors, the stereo found a way into his bloodstream, his ears throbbed along with everything else. It was a black ocean of lights and smoke.

Spiderman spotted them immediately, the hostages. Their hands, feet and mouths were gagged, some of them were bleeding. There were seven of them, and eight, if he counted the dead bartender whose limp corpse decorated the countertop in a rather monstrous portrayal of horror. There was enough blood to fill forty cocktail glasses. Yin & Yang danced, while the hostages gawked on in silent terror, afraid to move, afraid to scream, afraid to cry.

Tar filled his heart.

 _They had to be stopped._

"Honestly guys," Spiderman said. "Is there a universe out there where the two of you aren't so painfully _pretentious_?" he was almost being genuine with that question.

Yin looked thrilled to see him, her eyes sparked electric. Something told him she was more dangerous than her partner, considering she was bat shit crazy. Totally _Looney tunes_. Maybe she'd fried her brain cells the last time she tried to light her family's property on fire.

"Ah," she said. "Welcome to the party!" she sounded ecstatic. "Look, dear. Just when we needed things to get more interesting -"

"a clown shows up to entertain the children," Yang said, completing her sentence, his gold teeth looked like they were absorbing the strobe lights.

"What's with the chicken coop?" Spiderman asked, eyeing the hostages.

"Shh," Yin purred. "It's kind of a secret."

"And we'd tell you what it is," Yang said, taking a step forward. "But you aren't on our side anymore, are you, hot shot?"

 **SIX WEEKS AGO**

"Is it really necessary for your circus folk to pry in on _all_ of our private conversations?" snarled Void, curling his lower lip in disgust.

"Hey, hot shot. You wanna see a carnival trick?" Yang threatened, fury burning in his irises.

Void smirked. "Bring it on, Sunshine,"

"Enough! Quit it. Both of you! _Now_ ," howled Stern, effectively pissed off now that their squabbling had made him spit out the cigar he'd been puffing. "We're all adults here, so stop acting like children or I'll _punish_ you both like I would children,"

Void then began to imagine what Stern would constitute as punishment for children, the creative thought kept him from bashing Yang's head against the wall, temporarily anyway. "Now what I wanted to talk to you about is important. It's our plans for the city's future once we seize it. And, I have another job for you,"

"See, that's the problem. I'm tired of taking orders from you," snapped Void. "Maybe _I_ should be the one running things around here,"

Stern's steaming glare was fire and promises of torment in the near future. "Don't you forget that _I'm_ the one who freed you of your cage, _boy_ ," he spat, getting all up in his face; so much so that he could almost taste his cigar breath. "And I'm also the one who can put you right back."

"Not to mention your behavior lately has been unnecessarily disruptive," chimed in Yang, ever-ready to get on Void's nerves. Oh, how he would flay him alive soon as he got the chance.

"See, that's where you're wrong. You _need_ me. If you put me back, you'd have to deal with my holier-than-thou, do-gooder, cheap excuse for a superhero counterpart and I think you're afraid that his frail ass might actually be a threat to you." Void reasoned.

"As for disruptive, what did you expect from the very essence of death and destruction? Flowers? Rainbows? _Ponies_?"

"He means your detrimental need to keep seeing that stupid girl," snapped Stern. "Which is getting in the way of your duties."

And maybe it was some tiny fragment of the old Stiles left behind, but his wording made him ballistic.

Void Stiles snatched the still burning cigar from the bigger man and pressed it's sizzling mouth against the skin on Stern's bicep, holding it there momentarily. Stern growled in pain, flicking Void's hand away; the cigar dropped to the floor.

"Don't you _ever_ ," he said, between gritted teeth, his words dripping venom. "Call her that again. Or a tiny cigar burn won't be all that will leave you aching in agony."

 **PRESENT DAY**

"We were never on the same side," Spiderman said, smirking. "Even my evil twin didn't quite warm up to you, and he was an equally hollow son of a bitch,"

Yang looked like he was ready to go, but Spiderman wasn't going to give him the chance - not yet, anyway. "Oh, by the way, hey, Christina! I almost didn't recognize you for one second there what with all the make-up and the hair dye and the _nose job_ ," he quipped.

Yin's entire face paled significantly. "I did _not_ get a nose job!" she exclaimed. In an interesting turn of events, Yang looked as taken aback as ever. "Elena," he said. "What's he talking about?"

"Nothing," Yin's expression hardened. "Nothing at all. That... That was all in the past, baby. The girl he's referring to, might as well be dead."

"I can assist with that," Spiderman cut in. "I mean with the making you as good as dead part,"

"What do you mean? I still don't understand..." Yang looked confused, and Spiderman almost felt sorry for the guy. It looked like he'd been played.

"I am Elena. I'll always be your Elena. Christina was just..."

"Your evil twin? But she wasn't quite different from you, I mean, you both like to set things on fire, you both suck at keeping secrets and you're both awful girlfriends,"

"He's right about the awful girlfriend part -" muttered Yang.

"Hey! That was _totally_ uncalled for!" shouted Yin.

"Oh. Look at that. Time's up. Couple Therapy's over, do come back next week, though!" Spiderman chirped, and by the time Allison and Malia stormed in, successful in their ass-kicking mission, he'd got both Yin and Yang dangling from the ceiling fan, all mummified in gossamer.

"Go!" he said, once he'd freed the hostages. "Get out of here!"

"Alright," Allison said, seething on adrenalin and ready for some answers. "If you want to survive to see the light of day, the two of you buffoons are going to start answering all of our questions," Malia strutted towards them, eyes sizzling dynamites.

"Yeah," she said. "And if you don't cooperate, I'm going to eat the both of you alive."

"She's a coyote," Spiderman clarified. "She'll totally do it."

"I love the taste of human flesh," Malia purred, dramatically. "Tastes just like chicken."

"Go ahead," muttered Yin, defeatedly. "Seriously. No matter what happens to us if we don't give away any information, I'm sure that whatever will happen to us if we _do_ by the hand of our Master will be much, much worse,"

Spiderman felt a sickening sense of déjà-vu as he recalled his visit to Caster Woods, the human torch who'd said almost the same exact thing. " _I'm more afraid of my Master than I am of you, so I won't be telling you anything of importance."_

This almost demotivated Spiderman, but Allison was persistent, she kept going.

"We'll help you," Allison said, much to Malia's disapproval and Spiderman's surprise. "We'll make sure this master of yours doesn't ever find the two of you. Despite all the despicable things you've done, we'll save you from him. I mean, you'll still go to jail for all the murdering - but hey, silver lining! at least you won't be unspeakably tortured!" she offered.

Yang looked like he was considering it, but Yin was still shaking her head, and also visibly sobbing. "You don't understand," she whimpered, her lips blue from the lack of oxygen going to her brain, being hung upside down and all, her hair falling all over her face in dark sheets.

"You don't understand." She repeated.

"No, girlie, _you're_ the one who doesn't understand. You're going to suffer either way, so you might as well make things easy on yourself and just give us the scoop already." Malia said, firmly; heavily lacking the virtue of patience.

"What are you so afraid of?" Allison looked genuinely curious, because Yin looked genuinely spooked.

"Because... He's _terrifying_ ," she managed, in between hard sobs.

"Who? Stern's your Master, right? Leonard Morgenstern? Like okay, he can control the wind. And okay, he can probably make tornadoes dance on his fingertips. And okay, the dude's built like a monster truck, but I think he's appropriately _scary_ at best. We can take him," Spiderman blabbed.

 _"Stern?"_ Yang actually choked back a dry laugh. "You've spent all this time thinking Stern's your guy?"

"Isn't he?"

"And you say we're the fools,"

"Elaborate," snapped Allison, something cold and resolute frosting over her features.

"Shut up!" Yin wept. "They'll have our heads."

"Maybe," Yang sounded tired. "But I'm sick of being played like a fiddle."

"Henry, no," Yin/Christina sounded properly mortified now. "Please, _don't_."

Henry; apparently that was Sunshine's real name. It really didn't go with his whole angelic demon aesthetic, but it wasn't Spiderman's business to judge.

"It doesn't matter anymore, Elena," he sounded so, so tired. "Nothing matters anymore."

"Exactly! Now tell us!" Malia was ready to devour some information, or perhaps somebody's first born child, Stiles could never tell when she got all ferocious like that.

"Stern's appointed himself our leader, but he isn't the brains of the operation. That's the executives down at Wolfram & Hart, and the primary head of the serpent, Peter Hale, who took up the mantle after Kate Argent's untimely death,"

Allison actually took a step back, suddenly looking like she was going to be dizzy.

"Did you say Kate Argent?" she asked, at the same time that Malia said, "did you say Peter Hale?" at the same time that Stiles felt stupid because _of course it was Peter Hale he was famous and corrupt and any man who could carry off V-necks that well was obviously into some occulted shit._

"He has all of us - including Stern, under his thumb," Yang/Henry nodded.

Allison's entire face dropped. She truly looked like she'd been slapped across the face.

Stiles' felt his stomach toss and turn. "What... What about Stern? The Torch - Caster, told me -"

"Caster? I've never heard one true thing come out of his mouth. He's a bag of lies. He was obviously misleading you." Yang/Henry explained.

"I mean I always knew she was evil, I guess. I just didn't know to what extent." Allison muttered, blinking away her shock. Stiles felt his heart go out to her, it couldn't have been easy, considering Allison was once close to her aunt, a long time ago.

"The bitch is dead and she's still disappointing me, I can just imagine her sitting there in her grave shooting me the middle finger and cackling maniacally," Allison spat, irritably.

"But Peter Hale's a business man, he's donated to so many charities, he holds fund raisers and galas every weekend, he was on the cover of Forbes magazine last spring and they'd even invited him to judge this year's Top Model," Malia muttered.

"He met the Queen of England for crying out loud!"

"He doesn't like getting his hands dirty. We do the gritty work for him while he smiles brightly at the cameras. That's why he juiced us all up, that's why he came up with this elaborate plan to fuck up the already fucked up criminal population of New York City a little more," Yang blabbed.

"He's got, like, five-hundred closets full of skeletons," Spiderman grimaced.

Allison's expression hardened once more. "Where can we find him?"

"He's at the office building, probably sipping on expensive scotch and watching the chaos unfold." Yang muttered distastefully.

Peter Hale was going down. Spiderman would make sure of that. He would make sure to destroy his reputation, expose him to the world as the despicable, slimy cockroach that he truly was.

"There's one more thing," Yang added. "He's a werewolf."

xxxxx

He let Yin & Yang go, because they wouldn't get very far in this burning city, eventually, he was going to put them back behind bars where they belonged.

"We were only a part of it because we thought we owed it to Peter Hale," Yang had argued. "And also because he promised us riches," Yin muttered. "Shut up, will you?" and another argument had sprung up.

Spiderman didn't care for them, he had bigger fish to fry.

They had to reunite. This was an ambush they couldn't walk into blind, they needed to plan, prepare, strategize and regroup. So they went back to Derek's Warehouse.

Lydia was still treating him like he was something she'd stepped on by accident, something that was getting her stilettos dirty. It hurt, in fact, it was killing him. Unfortunately, or perhaps, fortunately, he didn't have time to dwell upon her behavior. There was too much going on, too much at stake, and if he didn't do something about it soon, Lydia's treatment of him wouldn't be the only thing killing him.

"Lydia," he said. _Wonderful. Now she was pretending like he didn't exist._ "Lydia," he echoed.

She was running her hands through her hair, looking at absolutely everything but his face.

"Can we talk?" he asked, when she finally spared him a glance.

"I suppose," she responded, barely moving her lips.

Stiles sighed and took her by the arm, gently. "Somewhere that's not here, preferably?"

It was early morning and everyone was resting, or preparing. Scott and Allison had gone back home to gather supplies and make out, probably. Derek was busy seething in silence, something had undone him and he was human again. It almost didn't feel natural for Derek to be human, he always behaved like he was immortal, all-powerful, better than everyone else. To see him reduced to this state... a curled up ball in the corner, Stiles had to admit he actually felt a twinge of sadness for the guy.

Lydia had stayed at Derek's warehouse to help him recuperate a little. They would regroup back here in a couple of hours, once everyone had mentally prepared themselves.

Derek met Stiles' eyes, he mustered a smile, Derek shot him back a look that said: _I may be human now, but I could still break every bone in your body in half like a twig._ It probably wasn't true since Stiles had superhuman powers, but he let Derek believe it anyway.

It was therapeutic for him to know that he could still terrify puny ol' Stiles Stilinski.

"Come for a walk with me," he insisted. "No thanks," Lydia replied.

"Why not?"

"The last time I was walking I almost got blown up. New York City's a nightmare realm."

"Point taken. Okay. Just... Come outside with me a moment, will you?"

"Whatever," she muttered, through gritted teeth, but complied despite the sour look on her face, following him out of Derek's pad.

They stood by the curb, Stiles leaned against a traffic light constantly blinking red, yellow and green like a disco ball, probably damaged from all the hell being raised. Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and just stood there, quietly. The morning sunlight tinged her hair fiery orange.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Stiles asked.

"You're the one who wanted to talk. So here's your golden opportunity. _Talk_."

"Stop acting like this, alright? You've made your point. You're pissed, but I need all hands on deck at the moment and I need you to cooperate,"

Lydia's gaze fell on him, sharply. "Have I _not_ been cooperating all this time?"

She jutted her chin up just a little, there was a mad glint in her green eyes. She was daring him to contradict her statement.

"You've been _adjusting_ , and barely. All you're really helpful for these days is making snide remarks and rolling your eyes," Stiles spat, infuriated.

"Funny," Lydia said. "You're actually talking to me like you _want_ me on your team."

Stiles sighed, "Of course I want you, Lydia."

 _I want you in every possible way._

Lydia scoffed harshly, before breaking into a foul smile that made his heart shrink. "Don't you _dare_ ," the amount of pure fury weaved into those words was palpable in her curling fists and her vaporizing stare.

"I mean, because it sure didn't seem to me like you wanted me in any way, shape or form. You've been nothing but cold, distant and awful these past few days. Sometimes you can't even stand to look at me, you made Scott let me know in words how you'd like me to keep my distance because you thought your despicable actions might not be enough to drive me away. So _congratulations_. You win! You've got exactly what you wanted. You've pushed me right out of your life and I've complied. So _rejoice_ , and don't bother showering me with your false concern, save it for someone who'll buy it," she continued.

"And don't you dare," she repeated. "Tell me that you _want_ me."

Stiles felt his heart drop to his feet, his throat was a wildfire. "I can explain," he replied, weakly.

"Shove it. I'm not interested."

"Lydia," he took another deep breath.

He _did_ have a viable explanation. He would have never, ever done something like that if there wasn't a reasonable explanation, she should know that by now.

"No, Stiles. No. For once, _you_ are going to listen to what _I've_ got to say," she snapped. "What you did, it really hurt my feelings. I don't care how good your reason is, you don't get to treat a person; especially someone whose in -" she stopped herself, thought it through, and rephrased.

"Especially someone who cares for you, like trash. You don't get to treat me like that and expect me to come running back to you at your beckon call, at the second that you decide you need me again, for whatever reason. I decided a long time ago that I don't take crap from anyone, and I haven't for a long time, until you came along and then decided you could behave with me as you damn well pleased," she went on.

Stiles wanted to say something, chime in, but he was afraid she would cut his tongue and tie it to the highest tree if he dared.

"Don't forget, Stilinski. They called me the Ice Queen for a reason."

With that, she stormed off, taking with her his heart and his dignity.

 _I never meant to hurt you_ , he thought. _This wasn't how it was supposed to be._

xxxxx

Lydia

 _Don't cry._

 _Don't you dare cry._

The tears came and they didn't stop.

"I hate crying," she muttered to herself, in between sobs. "I hate this."

 _I hate that he can make me feel this way. That he can reduce me to a withered mess like this. I want to pull out all my hair and light him on fire. I want to tear apart every sky and rip my own heart out._

xxxxx

When she was done embarrassing herself in front of herself, she returned to Derek's warehouse. Stiles had waltzed in like he always does, like he's the only thing in the world that matters, like planets have to stop spinning and time has to slow down when he's got something he needs from you; and interrupted their conversation.

Derek now sat up right on his bed, staring at the window in heavy silence.

"Hey," she said, softly, as to not startle him.

"You and Stilinski kiss and make up?"

"We didn't kiss or make up," Lydia confirmed.

" _Hmph_ ," he expressed a wide pallet of emotions with grunts like that, so Lydia wasn't quite sure what he meant.

"Derek," she said, taking a seat by his side. "I... what I wanted to tell you before we got so rudely interrupted was that... I dreamt this would happen and I should have you warned you, but I had no idea that it was even a premonition, I mean, I've said multiple times, I'm a genius, not a psychic," Derek looked up at her, confused.

"Are you telling me you knew I was going to become human again?"

"Not exactly. You were in this dream of mine and your eyes... They were your human eyes instead of your werewolf ones,"

"That's not much of a clue,"

"I know, but all the other werewolves in my dream, they had their wolf eyes, which was why it seemed off to me."

Derek sighed, "It's okay," he said. "Maybe it's for the best."

"Maybe."

Lydia stood up, "I just thought I should let you know. Anyway, I've got to get going. I need to shower and change before we walk into our inevitable doom. Take care of yourself, okay?"

" _Hmph_ ," he nodded, and maybe this one was a friendlier grunt than she was used to.


	29. To The Wonder

_'Cause in the madness there is perfection,_  
 _where do you end, where do I begin?_  
 _you were my broken imperfect reflection_  
 _the kiss on my skin._

* * *

Stiles

 **ONE WEEK AGO**

"So all the city lights go out and you want to have a candlelight dinner?" Lydia muttered, and he would've thought she was complaining, if it wasn't for the amused ring to her tone.

Stiles smirked, lighting the last candle and blowing out the match. "Oh yes we're totally doing this, there's no backing out now. We'll be sappy and overenthusiastic and it'll feel like one of those cheesy rom-coms you enjoy so much and it'll be perfect."

A citywide blackout had swept the streets for over a day now, Stiles was sure this had something to do with Wolfram & Hart. All the power lines had been cut off, state-of-the-art equipment so beyond damaged that the city would have to have them replaced. It was all rather outlandish, and cutting off the power grid of a monster big commercial city wasn't an easy feat to achieve, a storm was brewing and they knew it.

"Something bad's going to happen," Lydia mused, almost to herself, almost like a passing thought. "Are you saying that as a banshee or as a pessimist?" Stiles asked, Lydia scoffed. "I'm just saying, shouldn't we be doing something?"

"We are doing something," he replied, rather nonchalantly as he set the plates. "We're having dinner."

Lydia rolled her eyes, putting her bare feet up on the table and taking a sip of the red wine he'd poured her. She looked like the star of an indie movie, he thought, momentarily, with her hair up in that messy bun and her blushing cheeks and the denim overalls she had on.

"I mean something to keep all hell from breaking loose,"

"All hell's always breaking loose," Stiles reasoned. "It shouldn't keep us from enjoying the little things,"

"Naive," she snapped, her nose twitching slightly.

"Indulgent," he corrected.

"Denial," she retaliated,.

"I'd like to think of it as ephemeral bliss," he grinned.

Lydia stuck her tongue out at him. He finished setting the plates and leaned in to kiss her, she moved her face and the kiss meant for her lips landed under her eye instead.

"I didn't know you knew big words like that. Have you been reading the dictionary to keep with me?" she cocked an eyebrow.

"Ha-ha, very funny. Actually believe it or not, Scott taught me that word."

Lydia broke into another smile, all gumdrop and spring showers.

"I submit. Candlelit dinner it is. The world can wait."

"The world can go to hell," Stiles agreed.

They were in his living room, his father was out on duty as usual, so they had the house to themselves. Everything was masked in darkness except for the candlelight, Stiles had used up most of the Stilinskis' stock, but Lydia had bought more from her house, so the entire living room was now adorned with candles.

Lydia had even bought a pack of floating candles that sat in a bowl at the centre of the dining table. The whole house smelt of distinct, warring scents: sandalwood and black cherry, fresh cut flowers and mocha. Little moonlight trickled in from the glass windows, where gold shadows fused with silver blue. They'd been cooking together, something simple and delicious, Bolognese spaghetti, garlic bread and tiramisu for dessert. The dining table was formally set, they sipped on wine. Her phone played Bob Dylan songs. It made for a warm, serene ambiance that felt like it was melting all around them.

Stiles wanted this night to be as wonderful as humanly possible, because tomorrow everything may change, because tomorrow the world may end, because tomorrow may never even arrive.

"Who taught you how to cook?" Lydia asked, when they were almost done eating.

"I did, actually. My dad's an awful cook, like, he's almost burned our house down multiple times. After... After my mom died, and living off of take-out food was beginning to make us both sick, I decided to take up a little bit of cooking. I learned some of the easier recipes by myself, all hail the internet - and Melissa, actually, helped me with the trickier ones. I'd go over to Scott's and she'd teach us different cuisines, like how to make Mexican rice or Indian soup. It was pretty cool." Stiles explained, as he took his last bite of tiramisu, he thought he'd explode if he attempted to eat any more food.

"I'm going to have you cook for me all of the time now," she grinned teasingly.

"You're always using me for your superficial needs," he snapped, feigning distaste.

"I can't help myself, you're just totally housewife material." Lydia confessed, choking back a giggle.

"You've got red sauce all over your face," Stiles said, at one point, shaking his head as if he was disappointed. Before Lydia could open her mouth to respond, he leaned in his chair and pressed his lips to hers, when he pulled away, she looked confused. His mouth tasted like hers.

"And that made you want to kiss me?"

"Everything makes me want to kiss you."

They joked, and talked, and Stiles wondered if he could spend the rest of his life in these little, flittering moments. Holding on to the crinkles in her eyes like the veins of autumn leaves, lingering on the way she dribbled her red-painted fingernails on the table, getting drunk off the sound of her wholesome and awakening laugh.

"Lydia," he said, when they were curled up on his couch watching the firelight around them dance like a dozen tiny suns, with her on top of him, running her hands underneath his shirt softly, disillusioned almost. The coolness of her hands against the bare skin of his stomach and chest was just as jarring as always, like ice water streams. She looked up at him, eyes wide and hypnotizing green.

"Yeah?" she murmured, softly.

"If something happens to me..."

"No," she pulled her hand out of his shirt. The absence of her skin on his made his heart stutter in soft ache. "We're not having this talk again."

"Lyd -"

"I said shut up!" her voice was slightly louder now, her ears were getting red.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he said quietly, she rolled over so she was in front of him, he wrapped a hand around her waist. She didn't push him away, but she didn't lean in to him either. He wouldn't force her to. "You never mean to do anything, Stilinski. You're dumb and clueless and you say whatever comes to your mind. It's like you have no filter."

"I'm sorry,"

"You told me that we could just have this night, let the world burn."

"I meant it."

"So stop talking like that. Stop... at least for one night,"

"Like what?"

"Stop talking like a cancer patient. Like you know you aren't going to live a long life. You always do that, talking to me like all of this is even more transient than it has to be, like you're a ghost already, like there's no future in this, in us. Don't you believe in yourself one bit? You've made it this far."

Stiles sighed. He did believe in himself, but he also believed that a day would come when his luck would go bad like an overripe fruit and crumble in front of his eyes, that something would come along that would be too powerful to stop and he would succumb to it.

And now, with the largest threat he'd ever faced looming over his head like a storm cloud, he was worried that time was soon. He didn't want it to be, of course not. He had too much to lose, but he couldn't help thinking it anyway.

He had had to be realistic. He had to at least consider the tidal waves he'd be leaving in his wake if things did turn sour in the days to come.

But there was no way to explain that to the people he cared about.

There was no way to talk about it, even, without offending them.

Lydia sat up and turned to look at him, her eyes were brimming with unshed tears, they looked like molten lava in the flame-lit air. He took her face in his hands, she didn't flinch away.

"I had no idea the pressure I was putting on you. I don't want to make it seem like there's no point in any of this, because you are my light and losing you would be the worst thing," he insisted, and he meant every word.

"Here," he said, with a small smile, yanking something out of his pocket. "I'd been meaning to give this to you, but I kept forgetting."

It was a silver necklace, with a single rhinestone pendant; a heart-shaped treasure chest gilded and emblazoned in ruby.

Lydia's entire face lightened, as if a cloudy shadow had been lifted. "Oh my gosh," she gasped. "It's gorgeous."

"It isn't real," Stiles muttered. "I mean, the rhinestone is, the gold isn't. It... It was my mother's. My dad kept it after she died."

"And you what? Stole it from him?"

"No," Stiles chuckled. "No, he just... he didn't want it anymore. He gave it to me. He has a lot of her other stuff anyway."

"Oh,"

"Turn around," Stiles said.

Lydia looked unsure, staring at the necklace like it might be laced with venom. "Are you sure you want to give this to me?"

"Do I look like I've got a single doubt about this?" he asked, staring at her hard.

She sighed, but he caught the tail-end of a smile as she turned around and lifted her hair up for him. The nape of Lydia's neck was all pale marble, she had a beauty spot right beneath her hairline. He'd kissed it every time they'd slept together.

Stiles lifted the necklace and wrapped it around her neck, his fingers brushing her warm skin. It took him a minute or two, fidgeting with the tiny screw, until he finally got it to clasp.

"All done," he said, beaming.

Lydia dropped her hair and pressed her finger to the pendant where it rested right beneath her collarbone. "I'll cherish it like treasure, I promise."

He opened his mouth to respond, but she swallowed his words with a kiss.

When the kiss began to escalate into something more, Stiles pulled back, if only for a moment, cupping her chin in his hands and searching her eyes for any discomfort.

"Lydia. Are you sure?"

"Of course."

"I just thought after Void -"

"Don't kill the mood, Stilinski."

"Lydia,"

"Stiles," she ran her own palm down his cheek. "I want this, I want you. Let's just take it slow, okay? And let's keep the 'V' word out of our dictionary from now on."

"Anything you wish," Stiles replied, and then their clothes were a heap on the floor.

It was a wonder, a miracle, a mystery even, that they had managed to find a way to be comfortable around each other again after all the bullet holes still left unhealed, after all the carnage Void had left to stir in between them. _Not just anchors,_ he thought. _We're each other's kingdoms of comfort._

This was a new kind of vulnerability, every ache he'd ever had ready to jump out of his skin. They were healing from Void's inflicted wounds. They would make it through, at least through the night. And as she traced a star trail of kisses down his neck, he thought maybe they knew nothing about love.

 **PRESENT**

"I think we should do this without Lydia," Stiles was thinking out loud to Scott again.

"We will do no such thing," oh and Allison. Allison was present too. "Lydia, whether you like it or not, is just as much a part of this as we are."

They were sat in Scott's bedroom, morning sunlight had chased away the night's shadows, but the city was still close to crumbling, Peter Hale's rabid little experiments were still running the show and calling all the shots.

"I don't like it. Not one bit. In fact, this was supposed to be just me and Peter, a one on one thing. Just like it was with the Green Goblin. I've handled stuff like this before. I don't want to have you all in the cross fires."

"Why? Because we'll just get in your way? Please, Stiles. Peter is going to have a whole army of radicals backing him up and you know it. Scott and I chose this. We've been helping you before you even knew about us. We can handle our own."

"And I got bitten by a wolf. I'm just as entitled to this shitstorm as you are, so keep the I'm-only-trying-to-protect-you-by-trying-to-keep-you-out-of-this bull crap to yourself." Scott huffed.

"It's ruining my life," Stiles admitted, a flare of rage erupting in his chest. "It's ruining my life, okay? That's why I've been giving the two of you so many chances to back out!"

Both Scott and Allison visibly softened. Scott sat down besides his friend and gave him a light pat on the back. "We know," he said, softly. "For what it's worth," Allison muttered, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "I wouldn't say your life's ruined."

"You've revolutionized people, you've left a legacy in your wake. How many people our age get to say something like that? How many people in general?" Scott added.

"I've also seen enough destruction to drive me insane, I've also had too many brushes with death, I've also struggled like nobody I know. I _know_ I sound like a self-pitying loser, but maybe that's what I feel like at the moment. You know, they highlight all of my success stories in the tabloids, spiderman saving the day, but nobody talks about all the people I haven't been able to save; and there have been so many. It's not fair," he grumbled. "It's not fair."

"You're only one guy, you can't be everywhere at once and despite what the _tabloids_ say, you're still human - okay, half-human, but that still counts for something. Of course there were people you couldn't save, but there were people that you did save, and that makes all the difference; whether you believe it or not."

"He's right," Allison agreed. "Now I'm going to go make us something to eat so I don't have to bear any more of this sob fest." She joked, shooting them a small smile before heading out of the room.

Scott stayed. Scott always stayed. Stiles loved Scott for always staying.

"Scott," he said. "Thanks."

"Huh?"

"I know I don't say it enough, and that I often come across as an ungrateful jerk because of it, but I mean it man, thanks for just... always being there and sticking with me. Thanks for helping Spiderman too, for not jumping off the bandwagon when things started to get chaotic. And you're _not_ my sidekick, I know you feel like that sometimes, and I'll joke that you are, come on, you know I love to see the look on your face when I do, but sincerely? You're just as important to this whole Spiderman charade as the red suit and mask."

"Aw man, you're making me blush and feel all mushy inside. This isn't doing good things for my street cred."

Stiles punched his best friend on the shoulder and they hugged it out.

"Bro," Scott said. "We're going to beat those bastards."

Stiles was grateful for his buddy's optimism, even if he wasn't so sure he shared it.

 **ONE WEEK AGO**

 ** _(the following night in a dream.)_**

 _The sky was startlingly blue, and for a moment, he felt like he'd stepped into a storybook. Picture-perfect clouds hung above his head, heavy and white like angels. The evergreen field was savory enough to melt in mouths. The wildflowers that kissed his feet, the blinding, celestial sun, and the girl - oh, the girl._

 _Everything here was beautiful, everything here was a daydream._

 _That was his first hint that this was not real._

 _He shouldn't have ignored it._

 _The banshee wore a dress black as the plague, in stark and painful contrast to the rest of their surroundings. The dress seemed strange on her, and it didn't just have to do with the fact that the hem of it was wisps of smoke; soft tendrils dispersing into the air. It seemed strange like charcoal against snow; a dark juxtaposition to the milky tint of her skin. Her lips were the color of cranberries; the color of blood. Her eyes, instead of their usual foresty green, were black, her pupils swallowed by night. Her strawberry-blonde curls dangled loosely against her back, the one feature he recognized when he saw this angel of death from his dreams. She was staring at the sun, that had now begun its descent, jutting through the peaks of blue mountains that hadn't existed a couple seconds ago. Black birds were roaming the skies._

 _It was an entrancing, mutant hinterland. A place mortals did not belong._

 _"You're not Lydia," he said, certain in his proposition._

 _"What gives you that impression?" she asked, not tilting her head to look at him. Her eyes were muddled, she was concentrating on something blurry ahead of them, something he couldn't quite stomach yet._

 _"So are you Lydia?"_

 _"I'm a part of her. The fruit to the tree."_

 _Stiles was beginning to hate riddles. Why couldn't people in these strange dream worlds ever speak normally? Why did they have to be all cryptic and creepy? Why did each and every one of them behave like they were trying to do their best Alice in Wonderland impression?_

 _"Can you hear them, Stiles?" was the next thing that fell from her lips, along with a drop of blood. The droplet hit one of the flowers so it looked like the flower itself was weeping blood. The sight made his throat catch uncomfortably._

 _"I can't hear anything," he replied, honestly._

 _Supposedly Lydia looked disappointed at his response."Why are you bleeding?" he asked, now it looked like she'd swallowed a mouthful of blood and it was dripping down her chin like wine._

 _Lydia didn't answer him, she just kept staring at that thing he couldn't see yet. It was when he followed her gaze that he began to see, right above the field of flowers, wispy shapes were beginning to take form. At first, they were cloudy and indistinguishable, but he watched them turn to flesh, he watched them grow bones and jaws and feet._

 _Stiles stifled a scream. Blood was still dripping from Lydia's mouth like a ravine. It was so grotesque he thought he might be sick. His stomach raged._

 _"Do you hear them now?" she asked._

 _Of course he did. Their echoes were everywhere. Buzzing all around him like a whirlwind of ghosts. They were ghosts, he knew this, because some of their eyes were too hollow, some of them had detached limbs and necks twisted at peculiar angles. Others had holes in their chests. They were all stained red._

 _They were whispering at first, but their voices were beginning to reverberate louder, louder, louder until they turned into piercing screams. They were chanting one single question._

 _"Why didn't you save us, Spiderman? Why didn't you save us?"_

 _Stiles' heart fell to his feet, and he had to put his hands to his ears to try and drown out their anger, their agony, their foreboding. Next to him, Lydia fell. And she would've hit the ground if he hadn't grabbed her in his arms. Blood soaked her midnight black dress an even darker black. Her pupiless eyes remained eerily open, but somehow, he knew she wasn't breathing._

 _Panic like nothing he'd ever felt before erupted inside his chest._

 _"No," he said. "No, no. No!"_

 _"What is this?" he shrieked, shaking the shoulders of a dead girl. "Why are you showing me this?" he moaned on. "Explain yourself!"_

 _The ghosts continued their chant of doom. Lydia's mouth opened in a frantic scream. The scream drowned out everything. He blinked, and the world collapsed.  
_

* * *

 _And I know that if we are  
_ _shut out of paradise  
_ _for all that was, it was never for you and I  
_ _heaven is here in the wreckage  
_ _all that is broken but all that is true  
_ _I know I found it in my love for you.  
_

* * *

 ** _P.S Please leave a review on your way out._**


	30. I Forget Where We Were

_If our hearts are never broken,_  
 _and there's no joy in the mending,_  
 _there's so much this hurt can teach us both  
there's distance and there's silence,  
your words have never left me,  
they're the prayer that I say everyday._

* * *

Everyone regrouped at Derek's warehouse.

"You know, we really need a less depressing lair," Scott pointed out.

Derek huffed. "Well, we can think about refurnishing the place when we make it out alive."

"I don't know. You kind of get used to that wet paint and dead rat smell." Stiles said.

"I don't have rats," Derek huffed again.

"Guys, I think if you poke the beast one more time he's going to explode," Isaac warned, in a low voice. Malia choked back a laugh.

For a few moments, Stiles would just enjoy this. Being here with all of these people, including Derek, who were here ready to fight by his side today, all these people who were putting their own lives at risk. There were so many brave souls in this room. He felt his own heart pounding with their energies, their spirits, their stealth.

They were comrades, each and every one of them.

"Guys," Stiles said, suddenly. "I can't afford to lose any of you, I just I... wanted you to know that," and he meant it.

"Aw, that's cute," Malia pretended to wipe an invisible tear. Lydia scoffed. "You sure about that?" she still sounded like she wanted to eat his heart up and toss the remains in a garbage can. Scott smirked, like he was being showered with kisses, Derek was trying to appear poker-faced, but Stiles caught the genuine surprise in his eyes at being acknowledged, Stiles realized the guy didn't get acknowledged enough, Allison shot him a smile that warmed his chest, and Isaac fist-bumped him.

They were the weirdest group of comrades ever.

"So we infiltrate Wolfram & Hart," Allison began. "It won't be easy," Scott said. "Their security is tight, and that was before the city went to hell. It's the only building with light and electricity running at the moment, and Peter's buffoons are swarming the perimeters like vultures,"

"I know," she said. "That's why I came up with a plan," she smiled, yanking a map of the building from the bag she'd brought with her. "I have the map, the original blueprints _and_ a list of all the workers Peter hasn't sacked or killed up to date,"

"How?" Stiles was pretty certain everyone's mouths were hanging open.

"Kate Argent is atoning for her sins from beyond the grave," she muttered cryptically.

When everyone continued to stare at her in bewilderment, she rolled her eyes. "I got the info from my dad, he had an insider in Wolfram & Hart, working closely with my aunt and reporting back to him. He knew about the company's illegitimate dealings long before any of us."

"You hunters really know your stuff," Scott looked impressed. "My family's full proof. When my dad found out that Peter Hale had been promoted, and that a werewolf was now running the joint, he knew things would get ugly fast, which is why he began to monitor them even more closely than ever before."

She laid out everything she'd obtained on the dining table, where they all gathered to peer at it.

"This is every exit in the building," Allison said, pointing at various locations on the depicted perimeters, "Including a couple of _unofficial_ exit points, here, and here," she continued.

"Now our best bet is this one right here," she went on. "Every room requires thumbprint access, this one however, remains usually unmanned, because of the high levels of concentrated toxic fumes brewing in the room right besides it. Clearance is only for medical staff and scientists, I'm willing to bet they're easier to get past than the sumo wrestler security guards they have stationed outside every other entry," she explained.

"Does your plan involve some sort of magic potion that makes us immune to the toxic fumes?" Isaac questioned, narrowing his eyes.

"We'll tread carefully, and nobody's allowed inside without a hazmat suit, which makes it easier for us to hide our faces and slip in," she explained.

"It's dangerous, but it's also the quickest, most efficient way in," Allison insisted. Stiles nodded, gesturing for her to carry on. "Once we pass through there, we take the elevator up to the highest floor, that is where Peter Hale's office is," she explained.

"Obviously, not all of us will be doing this. We're going to have to allocate tasks," Scott said.

"Isaac and I can pick a fight with the minions who lurk outside his door, keep them distracted so spiderman can slip into the office unnoticed," Malia suggested.

"Scott and I can back you up," Allison said, "because you're obviously not doing this alone,"

" _Certainly_ not, because I'm going in with him," Derek said.

"Look, buddy, I'm heartened to know that you care about my wellbeing and all, but I'm kind of a lone ranger -" he cut Stiles off.

"I want to know what they did to me," Derek demanded. "And I want to know if the effects are... _permanent_ ," he said, with distaste. "Just because I'm human doesn't mean I can't still fight," he added. Stiles sighed, he couldn't deny the man's incentive, he also couldn't deny him because he looked like he would spontaneously combust if Stiles refused him.

"Okay," he agreed, grudgingly.

"What about me?" Lydia said, sounding even more pissed off than she'd been before. "Let me guess, you don't want me at all because I'll just get in the way, I'll just be a liability,"

"Hey, nobody said that," Scott cut in.

"No, not in words, but you were all thinking it; weren't you?"

"Why do you say that?"

Stiles wanted to yell at his best friend to shut up, to stop poking the beast.

"Banshees can read minds," Lydia stated, dead-pan.

"Really?" Scott looked flabbergasted.

Lydia rolled her eyes.

"No, you idiot," Allison muttered. "Lydia, we just don't want you getting hurt,"

"And I don't want you getting hurt, but I'm not stopping you from Black Widowing around the place, am I?" Lydia snapped, there was intricately concealed hurt burning in her eyes.

Stiles felt his stomach clench. "You can be in on this," he said; surprising everyone, including Lydia.

"I trained her myself," he explained, to the rest of them. "She's good."

Nobody was more worried about Lydia Martin than Stiles Stilinski was, but nobody believed in her as much as he did either. It was time he spoke to her, told her the true reason why he'd been holding back this entire week. He had to own up to the fact that at the end of the day, she was her own person and deserved to be treated like one. Everyone treated Lydia like a child because she wasn't a warrior like the rest of them, but she was a warrior in a different way than the rest of them, and just as brave; maybe even more. She'd jumped into literal fire to save her best friend, she was willing to do the same for him, after getting hurt she got right back up and learnt how to fight, she deserved just as much credit as any of them.

Not to mention she had to deal with all of her banshee instincts. It couldn't be easy remaining sane while having actual dead people screaming constantly in your head.

"If you're messing with me, Stiles. It's not funny."

"It wasn't meant to be a joke," he responded, simply.

"Thanks," she didn't sound as grateful as he would've expected, but it would do.

"So that's that," Stiles announced finally, "we get in, we kick Peter's ass thereby saving the city, we get out and rendezvous for pizza and confetti. Any questions?"

"What if the plan doesn't work?" Malia asked.

"How are we going to get there in the first place?" Isaac said.

"Is there a back-up plan?" Derek added.

"Kicking Peter's ass is very vague, do you actually know what you're going to do with him once you get your hands on him?" Lydia questioned.

"We could just kill him," Malia muttered,

"Nobody's killing anyone." Scott growled.

"Then he'll remain a constant threat. _Nobody_ wins." Malia stated, rather confidently.

"We'll make sure he's locked up. _Everybody_ wins." Scott retorted, equally confident.

"Prisoners break free sometimes," she pointed out.

"Guys, guys, guys. OK. Clearly... the plan's a bit... _flimsy_ ," Stiles admitted.

He wasn't the best at plans. His plans tended to burst into flame, but he couldn't exactly blame himself, Spiderman had never needed plans. He would go in, do what was necessary, and get out. This, working in a large group putting multiple lives at risk and going up against a werewolf in charge of a billion dollar company that had somehow freed and genetically enhanced a bunch of super-nasty criminals wasn't exactly his forte. It was the very opposite of his forte. It was a disaster and he was just hoping it didn't _end_ in disaster.

"How's that for an understatement," Lydia murmured.

"But it kind of depends on the string of events that are to unfold and we can't exactly predict what's going to happen. Formulating a rock solid plan just to have it combust in our faces would be totally anticlimactic," Stiles reasoned, or rather, attempted to reason.

"I agree," Allison said.

"Well, _I_ don't, striding in there all badass with a crappy, half-assed plan is just as likely to combust in our faces," Scott said.

"I agree," Lydia said.

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. They were truly getting nowhere, just running in constantly circles like this.

"If you've got better ideas guys, please, go ahead. I'm all ears." Stiles snapped, finally.

Everyone fell silent, including Scott, who looked like he was desperately trying to come up with an answer to that and getting nowhere. "I can go in," Lydia said, startlingly.

"I'll say I want to have a word with Peter Hale. It'll be enough to confuse his minions. I can play distraction,"

"You mean you can play _bait_ ," Allison sounded bitter.

"What's to keep them from killing you immediately?" Scott asked.

"I'm good at talking people into things. I'm going to tell them I have a message for him. I'll tell him I have psychic powers. I'll say I've predicted his death. He'll surely be curious enough to call me up to his office immediately. If I keep him talking and engaged, it'll buy you all more time. You can sneak in and dislocate all of his human weapons. By the time you join us in the office, Peter will be unhinged and vulnerable. He'll assume my prophecy's coming true."

"No way. Absolutely not." Stiles shook his head. "Too dangerous," Allison agreed.

"That's rich coming from you," Lydia said, to the both of them, narrowing her eyes like a cat.

"I've got to admit," Malia mumbled. "It's a pretty good idea."

"It's a pretty good idea to get you killed. What if Peter loses his temper? What if he hurts you? Or... Or worse? God knows what type of a guy this is we're dealing with, I can't afford to just leave you locked up in his office all alone with him."

"I'll be fine," Lydia sounded confident.

"And _I_ won't be!" Stiles' felt his temper flare, he felt his tenor swell.

Lydia looked jarred by his vocal reaction, everyone else in the room seemed to still. It was just the two of them, he couldn't see beyond Lydia's horizon, and the mere thought of someone as repulsive as Peter getting his hands on her after everything that went down with Stern was enough to make Stiles' stomach crumble.

How would he be able to concentrate on the task at hand if he was constantly worried for her?

"There you go again with your god complex, or your misogyny, or whatever it is. How many times do I have to tell you that I can handle myself, how many times do I have to prove myself to you? We're talking about saving a _lot_ of lives! Why can't you just let me do this?"

"I think... We should give the two of them a few moments to sort this out on their own," Scott said, already escorting everyone out of the room.

"Great, I'm being kicked out of my own place," Derek muttered, underneath his breath, but he dragged himself out the door.

It was just the two of them now.

Lydia was standing insanely still, like a deer who'd perked up at the presence of a looming hunter. He wasn't sure if she was even breathing.

For a moment, Stiles found himself having a strange flashback to a while ago when he saw Lydia walking into the heat of battle for the first time. He'd been fighting the Flaming Man, she'd waltzed in and the world had fallen away. Time slowed down. He lost balance, semblance, patience. And then he allowed himself to think it. He allowed himself a miserable moment to consider that gruesome possibility. The mere thought of losing Lydia was enough to send his nerves into a chaotic frenzy, it was enough to initiate a chain reaction that absolutely disrupted him, turned his insides out, burned out his lungs.

He remembered what it felt like when he'd opened his eyes to Lydia being tortured. Misery. Guilt. Fear. Pain so visceral it was like every vein in his body was bleeding. And worst of all... A certainty that he would lose his mind if she lost her life.

Stiles had always been an overprotective person, ever since his mother's death, he'd turn himself into a turtle, dislodged his protective shell to shield himself and anybody he cared about from the horrors of the world. There was the year he'd sunk into the tar-black pit of depression, he'd been too afraid to make any friends, he'd been too afraid to commit to the ones that he already had. He'd been rude and distant with Scott, kept his own father at an arm's length.

He kept seeing his mother dying in his head, over and over and over again. He began to see other people he loved dying. He imagined it happening to Scott, his father, his favorite teacher, his pet dog. It was like every single thing in his life that he ever got attached to was a ticking time bomb waiting to implode in his face and take his heart with them.

Eventually he learned to cope with his issues, his father sent him to a therapist who sat with him for hours, helping him get through his distress, helping him rationalize his terrors.

"What is it that terrifies you the most in this world, Stiles?" she'd asked, voice warm as honey.

"Death," he replied, voice heavy with a thousand stones.

The therapist nodded. "Not my own," he added quickly. "Other people's."

Even though he'd gotten better with his phobia, he still worried sick about the few people he let in. Now, at the brink of what felt like the end of his world, he felt like he had more to lose now than ever.

"You just told me you would let me help you!" Lydia was screaming, her eyes were rheumy and startling, they made something stir in the pit of his stomach, something potent and shattering.

"That was before you came up with the worst idea you've ever had. Literally. _Ever_." Stiles was seething, he knew it and he didn't care. He couldn't help himself.

"Like in your grand, ever-elongating list of awful ideas, this one's gotta be up there at the top. The terrible tinsel on the crapiest tree." He went on.

Lydia's face turned to stone. "It's too bad I'm not asking for your permission."

Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Lydia was one of the most stubborn people he'd met in his life, she wasn't going to be swayed easily.

"Why are you doing this?" he finally felt his voice shrink. "Why are you torturing me? Is this some kind of revenge thing?"

Lydia's face was devoid of emotion, her expression unreadable, her lips taut and her posture almost stoic. "Look, if it's about the way I've behaved these past couple weeks then I've got an explanation for that. I just need you to hear me out, I need you... I need you to _listen_ ,"

"Hm," she pretended to mull this over. "I'll consider it - _after_ we've infiltrated Wolfram  & Hart."

"What?" there were bees stinging his throat now, "no."

Lydia simply crossed her arms over her chest and looked away from him, staring at the barren walls of Derek's warehouse, which were suddenly shifting like they were preparing to close in on them. Soft light from the windows behind her tinged her face like flour. He walked over to her, closing the distance between them.

She met his eyes, something unspeakable burned in between them.

He waited for her to step back, to retaliate, to turn away.

She didn't.

"Lydia," he began polite enough. "I need you to not be mad at me right now."

She suddenly looked strained, like invisible ropes had latched themselves round her neck. Her lashes fluttered darkly. He suddenly felt heavy in his shoes, like they were filled with water.

"Why?" she sniffled.

"Because... Because _hell_ , Lydia. I don't know if I'm going to make it out alive!"

She froze. Stiles would've probably laughed under different circumstances, it wasn't often that he caught her off guard. He noticed the slightest change in her expression, something behind all the steel softened, if only by an inch.

"You're going to make it out alive," she said it almost like she was certain, and then chuckled dryly; awfully. "I'm not getting rid of you that easily."

Something really had made her heart change. Before, when he talked like that, Lydia would've said something like _shut up_ or _don't say things like that to me._ Now she was making morbid jokes about it. Now she was a cold, distant planet.

"Right," he could taste the bitterness in his mouth like stale coffee, his heart was a sinking ship in his chest. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?"

He turned on his heels and began to walk away. He was half-way to the door when he heard her say something to his back. "Go ahead. Prove it."

He paused, and without turning around, "prove _what?"_

"Prove that you're done with me, that you made me fall in love with you and then decided you didn't care anymore, that you're bored, that you've had your fill."

Stiles whirled back around, he let his jaw hang wipe open for a moment before he spoke.

"You're crazy if you think any of that is true."

"I don't know what to think anymore. _You're_ the one who's been treating me like I suddenly don't matter to you."

"Okay," he said, tired of all the taunts. He strolled over, took her by the shoulder, gently, and sat her down on Derek's dining table. He took a seat across from her and stretched out his hand; palm facing upwards.

Lydia stared at it like it was flesh eating bacteria.

He let his hand remain as it was until she would decide to take it.

"Now shut up and let me explain myself to you. Remember that night after all the city's fuse blew out and the candlelight dinner and..." he let his words fade.

Lydia looked flushed at the mention of the memory. "Yes," she said, tightly.

"I... I had a dream the night after. I don't exactly know how to explain it to you, but you were there. And... And... there were these... ghosts," he felt the air leap in his throat. It was like he'd swallowed a marble.

He remembered the dream perfectly. It wasn't like his usual dreams, where he dreamt about falling down a deep pit or monkeys in tutus or seahorses in space. This one didn't fade with the night. It stuck like something impossible to ignore, like gum stuck in your hair or a mosquito buzzing in your ear.

"And do you remember how you were talking about premonitions?" he asked.

She simply nodded, her expression, once again, telling him nothing about what might be going through her head. "That's what it felt like. A bad omen," he went on.

He couldn't describe it. He didn't want to. It was too gruesome. Lydia... and blood... and a heart that was no longer beating... _No_.

"Here's the summarized version: it was the scariest dream I've ever had," Stiles admitted. "I'm surprised I didn't wet the bed."

Lydia simply blinked in his face, waiting for him to continue.

She still didn't take his hand.

And he still didn't take his hand away.

He went on, breathing heavily. "You know Lydia, after Void. I... I feel like I lost something, I feel like I can't get it back."

He rubbed the back of his head, messing his hair up a bit in the process with his free hand, as he struggled to keep going, to make her understand.

"Even he felt it, and that's why he was so infatuated with you, that's why he couldn't let anything kill you. Void; even he felt this unexplainable connection I've always felt with you," _like a shadow from a past life or a childhood best friend, like a tattoo pinned to your back: a heavy, metal-winged butterfly; like a paperweight._

"When I came back... Everything felt inside out and vulnerable. There was Scott and Allison and my dad and everyone I love and care about... but they all seemed miles away from me, as if we were standing on opposite ends of a chasm that'd spilt the world in half. I... I don't know. It was all murky, I had these memories, I remembered who I was, but they felt like they'd happened to someone else. I felt like someone else. It was all... unclear, blurred. I was a question mark and so was this life that had been returned to me," he admitted. "Except for you."

He heard her breath catch. He didn't choose to comment on it.

"You were the only thing in color, the only thing that made any sense at all. I looked at you and I felt tethered to my own being, reminded of life, of home, of security. Everything was less... incoherent, when I was around you. It hurt less. It felt... warmer, like this is what living used to feel like. And - I'm not trying to be cute, I'm not saying this so that you'll jump into my arms. I'm saying this to let you know that... that you have this - this power over me, I don't know what I might do if I have to lose you, I remember what it's like to feel like nothingness is sitting at the bottom of your stomach, I remember what it feels like to lose a vital part of yourself," he felt his own breath catch. "I never want to feel like that again."

Lydia's hand dropped into his.

Warmth enveloped his stomach like syrup. His skin prickled enthusiastically. Her fingers were temperate against his cool ones, she let them sink into the spaces between his own.

It was like that awesome feeling he used to get as a child when he peeled glue off of his skin.

"Stiles, here's the problem," she said, voice gentle and lulling like wind. "I had the very same dream."

He swore his heart stopped for a whole minute.

When he finally thought he could speak, all he could muster was a quick, liquid, _"what?"_

"I had the very same dream and I didn't care."

"I... I was afraid if I let you stick with me, something horrible would happen to you. I couldn't get that image of you dying in my arms out of my head."

"And you thought pushing me away was the solution?" her tone was clipped again, and even though they were holding hands, something in her voice had gone frigid.

"Stiles, I don't even know where we are anymore. What we are. You were the last person I thought would ever let me down. I needed you, that day, I needed you and you weren't there. And I just... I think it's strange that what didn't seem to affect me seemed to affect you. And if it had to, you could've told me about it, we could've spoken and sorted things out. Instead you gave me the cold shoulder. You made me feel neglected and you were ignorant and it wasn't fair."

"I know. It was stupid and rude and I never realized how much I must've hurt you. I didn't go about it the right way. I'm incredibly sorry."

"Yeah," her fingers were sliding away from his, he wanted to reach out and grab them, pull her to him - he didn't.

"You should be."

She offered him a small smile after that, almost a sad, nostalgic one.

"I'll see you later, Stiles."

He gaped at her as she traipsed out. For a few minutes, he simply sat there, alone in Derek's warehouse, his skin still enticed by the phantom of her touch, and his heart in his mouth. Then, when he found the courage to get up, he got into his jeep and decided to just... _drive_... lose himself to the road for a few minutes, until he had to go back and do his job.

But he couldn't get the engine to start.

He slammed his fist as hard as he could against the steering wheel in utter frustration, he felt his hand sting where it'd met impact, he let himself feel the pain. He let it _hurt_.

* * *

 **This Is Your Daily Reminder To Drop Me A Review On Your Way Out, Have A Wonderful Day, And Leonardo DiCaprio Finally Won An Oscar, Think About That Auspicious Occurrence As You Go. What A Time To Be Alive.**


	31. Bright Lights, Burnt City

_My moon, oh, my moon,_  
 _not even into_  
 _another eternity_  
 _will you stop your lovely orbiting._

* * *

Lydia

 **ONE WEEK AGO**

New York was a dark place without it's city lights, and the lack of electricity felt like it was going hand-in-hand with the lack of oxygen reaching her brain.

Evacuations had begun, people were clearing out of the city in hoards, roads were jam packed, homes were emptied. "You've got to promise me you're going to leave the city as soon as possible, sweetie. You can grab a flight to California, stay with your aunt in Beacon Hills for awhile until I get back," said her mother on the phone that evening.

Lydia's phone was only working because of the portable charger she'd timely charged only the night before the black out, but soon the charger's battery would die out too, taking her phone with it.

"I promise, mom. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. California isn't necessary, I'll just be staying with a friend down in Jersey, it's totally safe," this was a lie, but her mom was out on a business trip in Taiwan, and there was no way she would find out her daughter was deciding to stay put, traipsing about a dangerous city.

Under better circumstances, Lydia may have listened to her mother and left, under better circumstances she would've pulled her hair and screamed at the top of her lungs and persuaded her friends to leave with her.

These were not better circumstances; and if Allison, Stiles and Scott were staying behind, so would she. Only she hadn't heard from Stiles all day, which wasn't at all like him. Especially not after the night they'd had.

Lydia sighed, finally deciding to go over to Stiles' place to make sure everything was okay and aid them in whatever way she could. She took a quick look at herself in the mirror, touching the pendant Stiles' had gifted her the night before lightly. It gleamed like a diamond studded in light, even though the sun was past it's meridian and the city would soon be bathed in blackness.

Driving down the city roads now made her feel like she'd been plopped into a horror movie, there was smoke in the skies, everything was the color of ash and soot, shadows nestled in every corner, the rest of the people, the ones still in the process of evacuating, were rioting, mobs were being held back by city officials, screaming and pumping their fists in the air in clear defiance of the authoritative measures being taken, holding up placards reading 'INJUSTICE' and 'STOP THE MUTANY'. Helicopters zipped noisily overhead.

It felt like a new world, a disaster zone.

When she finally got to Stiles' house, relief swarmed in her gut. Seeing him was the only thing that kept her days from becoming absolute nightmares, by being swallowed by the blackness of everything else; quite literally.

By the time she'd taken to get there, it was already quite dark. The moon dangled half-heartedly in the sky, there wasn't a star in sight. The clouds looked heavy, almost as if they were guilty of some unspoken crime.

Lydia walked up to his front door and knocked a couple of times. When nobody responded after a minute had passed, she pressed for the door bell, completely forgetting that there was absolutely no electricity anywhere, before she could knock again though, louder and harder this time; the door swung open.

It was Scott.

"Hey," she mustered a smile, even though she'd been expecting Stiles.

"Oh, Lydia. Hello, hi. Uh... What are you doing here?"

"That's an odd question to ask," she noted. "Anyway, is Stilinski home?"

"He... is," Scott's behavior was certifiably outlandish, even for him.

"Okay, great," Lydia took a step forward, but Scott leapt in front of her, blocking the door.

"But you can't come in right now. Stiles is... sick. Vehemently sick. It's... a horror show. Yeah, spewing liquids from both ends. Nasty... _Nasty_ stuff. You should just go home and... we'll give you a call later... when he's better."

Lydia felt her stomach fall, because Scott was an awful liar (also because for some reason Scott assumed diarrhea was the only illness in the world - it was his go-to excuse).

She narrowed her eyes, feigning nonchalance. "Oh. I happen to make excellent chicken soup. If he's sick, I'm just the thing he needs. Now let me _in,"_

"No!" Scott said, eyes widening in alarm. "I mean... He really just wants to be alone right now,"

"Then why are you here?"

Lydia tried to move past him, but Scott just pushed her back again.

"That's it," she snapped, gritting her teeth. "What's _really_ going on?"

Scott's entire face was flushed, he took a deep breath, ran his hand through his hair and then stepped out, closing the door shut behind him, instead of letting her in.

Lydia's insides were beginning to churn unpleasantly.

"Look," he began. "I don't know how to say this in a way that doesn't make me sound like a giant douchelord, but I can't let you in because Stiles doesn't want to see you right now."

"Like hell he doesn't," Lydia was determined Scott was just messing around with her.

There was no way in hell that boy didn't want her around. At this point, Scott having a pack of rabid monkeys traipsing about in Stiles' house sounded more probable than Stiles not wanting to see her. Ever since they were kids, Stiles had been her shadow, her moon, he would've followed her into the dark. He would've orbited her for ages to come. And now... what? He'd suddenly changed his mind? Put his hands up and said, "I'm tired"?

Hearts didn't just stop beating and the earth didn't just stop spinning.

"Seriously, Lyd. Would I make this up?"

Lydia would've fought back, she would've pushed past him and stomped in, she would've demanded an explanation, but it was something in his eyes; guilt mixed with shame mixed with genuine displeasure.

Lydia felt her brain lose control over her jaw as it fell. She actually took a step back.

"Did... Did he say why?"

Scott nodded his head despondently, but he didn't proceed to answer the question. "He thinks a little space would be good for the two of you right now,"

Lydia felt her cheeks burn. "And what do _you_ think?" she spat.

Scott bit his lower lip, the lowly expression on his face spoke volumes.

"Alright, then. I'll go. Let your friend know he's making a huge mistake."

Every bone in her body had just collapsed.

 **PRESENT DAY**

xxxxx

"What are you looking at, kiddo?" his father asked.

Stiles was standing on his roof in his spiderman suit, he still hadn't put on the mask. He had only five minutes. Five minutes until Scott and the rest of the gang arrived to pick him up and deliver him right into the belly of the corporate hell beast. Five minutes and his life may change forever. Five minutes and his life may _end_.

"Looking at the stars," it would've sounded foolish to anyone else considering it was four in the afternoon, but he figured his father would understand. John Stilinski walked over to his son.

"That's one of my favorite stories to tell," John admitted. "You were so enraptured by the night sky as a little boy, you'd be disappointed when the stars disappeared in the light of the day, Claudia was the one who told you that the stars are only hiding, that the sun makes them invisible in the day but that they're still there, and that if you watch closely enough -"

"I might catch sight of one. That part was dumb, wasn't it? I'd need a miracle to see a star in sunlight."

"Well, I happen to believe in miracles,"

Stiles' scoffed. It sounded like something a character from a soap opera would say.

"I know what you're thinking, son, but if you look in the right places, you might just find one."

"Maybe you're right," Stiles nodded, still scanning the noon sky, sketch pen blue and glassy like tears. "Lydia finally fell for me, and that still feels like a miracle."

"See, there we go."

"But I messed up, dad. I messed up really bad and now she hates me."

"I don't think she could ever hate you,"

"I don't think she's going to forgive me, and maybe a part of me doesn't think I deserve forgiveness anyway."

"We don't forgive people because they deserve it, we forgive people because they _need_ it."

"Have you ever considered working for a fortune cookie company?"

The elder Stilinski laughed, and then he whirled his son around and wrapped him in a bear hug.

"You take care of yourself out there, do you understand me? You're not allowed to die on me."

Stiles wrapped his arms around his father and closed his eyes. For a second, he pretended he was five years old again, running up to seek refuge in his father's arms, back when that was enough to keep the world from landing it's gritty hands on him, back when playing with fire was all just make-believe.

"Promise me you'll come back, son. Or I may not let you go."

"I promise," Stiles said, his throat felt like a cavity.

"And remember. No matter what happens out there, I'll always be proud of you."

Stiles nodded, pulling back and yanking his mask on.

"And maybe when this is all over we can discuss some alternative career options. _Spiderman_ doesn't pay the bills."

"Noted, dad," now, with the mask on, Stiles wasn't a boy, he was a force of nature.

"I love you," he said, and the look on his father's face was grim as hell, because when he was off on a casual jaunt, he usually left with a quip or a laugh or a promise to catch him later, but now he was looking at his dad like he would never see him again, memorizing every line of his face and the crinkles of his eyes and his homely smile.

Spiderman swung up into the sky.

xxxxx

"Are you guys ready?"

"Let's get this show on the road," said Allison.

Malia smirked, "I was born ready, _literally_ ; I'm a -"

"coyote, we know, jeez, Malia. Enough with the coyote jokes." Isaac muttered, sounding pained.

Malia shot Isaac a nonchalant shrug.

"Am I allowed to say I'd rather be having a bubble bath right now, preferably with one of those bath bombs shaped like cupcakes, but instead I've gotta save the city," Scott asked.

Derek simply huffed his approval, although the look on his face read: _if I die tonight, it'll be surrounded by a pack of teenagers that do not match my intellect in any way, shape or form._

Lydia didn't breathe a word, she just stared out the window; lost and starry-eyed.

Stiles wasn't sure if he was ready himself. One way or another, this quest would end tonight.

They had to steal New York back from Peter's hungry maws.

Once they got to Wolfram & Hart, despite everyone claiming to be ready, they all remained in the car. Stiles knew he would have to be the one to stir first. He killed the engine and whirled around in his seat. "Good luck guys. We're finishing this,"

"You bet!" Allison leapt out of the car, Stiles followed, and eventually so did the rest.

The plan was on. Scott was calling it Operation Blue Moon, because of all the wolves it involved. Stiles was thinking more along the lines of Operation I Just Hope We All Return With Our Limbs Intact.

After revising their plan about four hundred times, Allison, Scott and Spiderman had decided to enter through the back, using the unofficial channels, while Isaac and Malia would enter through the main entrance disguised as a couple of Wolfram & Hart's workers (a.k.a brilliantly manic overpaid corporate monkeys playing science and making stuff go boom).

Isaac had some handy tricks up his sleeves after spying on the company that screwed up his father's life for so long, he'd hacked into their system multiple times in the past and it aided him now as he'd created fake IDs for both himself and Malia.

"Emerald Green and Peter Parker?" Malia had muttered, shooting an eyebrow up at him judgmentally. "Those are the most ridiculous, most unimaginative names I've ever heard. We'll be caught instantly."

"It'll work," Isaac had insisted, despite agreeing to the fact that he wasn't the best at coming up with names.

Anyway, Emerald and Peter would get to the safety unit and get rid of the lasers, the metal bars, and every other safety precaution the building may have. They would also put the pressurized room with the highly toxic substances on lock down so that nobody would be getting in or out while they slip past and took the elevator to Peter's office.

Derek and Lydia were going to play distractions, they would convince the receptionist that Lydia was a psychic with powers to predict death and that she needed to have a word with Peter Hale immediately. They would keep Peter talking and take a good look at what they were up against.

Once Malia and Isaac would be done clearing the path for them, they had to locate wherever it was that they were creating monsters out of people and destroy everything.

"We've gotta wait until Isaac and Malia open the channel for us to go through," Scott said. "Or we could just crawl up the vents," Allison suggested.

"How about not," Scott responded, tightly.

"Don't worry guys. They've got this."

He really, really hoped they'd got it.

xxxxx

Lydia

"Why do we have to go as a couple, again?" Derek asked.

"Would you rather play the holy priest who has high faith in my mystical abilities?"

"No,"

"Then shut up and grab my arm."

"Jeez, if this is just the first date, I don't think we're going to make it to the honeymoon."

"Would you look it that, Mr. Can't-Crack-A-Smile really does have a sense of humor buried somewhere inside," Lydia said.

"Can we just do this so I don't have to suffer any longer?" Derek moaned.

"Wow. Most guys would think they'd be lucky to even fake date me."

"Yeah well, you were ruined for me. All I see when I look at you is Stiles Stilinski's girl and then I get the shudders."

Lydia wasn't sure how offended she was about that. The feminist in her reminded her that she was _nobody's_ girl. And Stiles Stilinski... she didn't know how she felt about him at the moment.

"You're mistaken on that front. I'm only Lydia Martin's girl."

"Yeah, yeah whatever, Elle Woods, let's go."

Before she could ask him whether someone had creatively tortured him into watching Legally Blonde or not, he dragged her into the big scary corporate building where only a few days ago, Void had held her hostage, and terror settled into her gut like acid fog.

A man in a grey suit with tattoos running all over his shaved head and a smile like he had cockroaches for teeth walked past them as they entered the building, Lydia's heels clanked loud as car crashes against the refined floor. Wolfram & Hart's main building didn't smell like death and the blood and tears of fifty-thousand slaves, it smelt like daffodil-scented air freshener and shoe polish.

The receptionist wasn't a creepy crime-lord in his late-thirties with one eye and a scar on his face. It was a plump little lady in a red dress, with dark hair and heavily rimmed glasses. She looked like she ought to belong on an infomercial.

Lydia couldn't even believe that the rest of the city was a ghost town because Wolfram & Hart was lit like a Christmas tree, it felt like any other well-to-do corporate building in New York City, distinguished and airy. Lydia had thought she'd forgotten what air conditioning feels like until she stepped in here and felt shivers dancing up her spine. People within the building were all carrying on with their respective duties like the city outside wasn't in flames, like nothing had happened at all.

Instantly, Lydia decided that they were all sociopaths, and the creep level skyrocketed when she decided that the fact that everything looked so normal and hospitable, even, was a lot scarier than if the place had actually been adorned like a haunted house and been crawling with monsters.

Even Derek looked unsettled, every bone in his arm looked tense and his jaw was forever clenched.

"Hello there," smiled the receptionist in red, in the chirpiest voice she'd ever heard. "May I help you?" before either of them could open their mouths, she spoke again. "You must clients, or employees, although, I haven't seen you around. Either way, you must still be alive for a reason. Unless you're just really good at being sneaky," she was speaking to them as if they were a pair of naughty children caught playing out in the mud when they were supposed to be at home doing their homework or something. Despite the sing-song quality of her voice and her gentle chiding, there was something sinister playing behind her dark blue eyes.

"See we wouldn't want that, because if you're _not_ clients or employees, well - that might make you enemies. We're not very fond of enemies. Such an awful word. Feels like rat poison down your tongue. Don't cha think?" she smirked.

Derek visibly gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing. Lydia wished she could've laughed at how afraid he looked, but she had this bad feeling that her face mirrored his blanched expression.

 _Come on, Lydia. You can do this. This, is what you're best at._

Lydia broke into a dazzling smile of her own, even taking a step closer to the receptionist's desk to prove that she wasn't undermined, whilst also maintaining a nonchalant posture.

"Hello, actually, my boyfriend and I are here on business. We need to speak to your boss immediately. It's incredibly imperative I'm afraid," she began, using her best white-church-girl voice, with a skip in its step and just the right undertone of menace.

This time, she cut off the receptionist lady before she could beat her to the punch, quickly leaning in and curling her palm on top of the woman's where it lay over the telephone. "He's really going to want to hear this," she said, voice thick and unwavering. " _Trust_ me."

The receptionist blinked.

"Get your hands off me," she snapped, all sweetness draining out of her.

"She'd be delighted to," Derek had caught up. "If you hook us up with your boss."

"He doesn't like being summoned," she muttered between gritted teeth. "Especially not by a couple of insignificant twigs like yourselves,"

Lydia had never heard anyone call anyone an insignificant twig before.

"My girlfriend's a psychic. She's extremely good. She hasn't made a single prediction that hasn't come true. Her powers are uncanny." Derek explained.

"The boss is not interested in magic tricks," she replied, pompously.

"Okay," Lydia said, taking her hand back, stiffing her nose up and turning around on her heal.

"Let's go, Jeremy. It's obviously a waste of time. I have better things to do," she muttered.

Derek blinked at her a moment, looking like he was deciding whether or not he should go along with the name she'd chosen for him, eventually he shrugged, playing along.

"Of course, Bertha," he snapped, beating her with a name she would literally make tangible and punch in the face if she could. Lydia didn't care, she could deal with the awful name.

 _Bertha the psychic, why not._

"If he dies, he dies," she muttered, loud enough that it was in the receptionist's hearing range, but still making it sound as discreet as possible. "What do we care?"

Derek began to follow until the receptionist literally shot off her chair and asked them to wait.

Lydia had to hide her smile.

She whirled around, looking rather bored.

"What is it now?" she asked.

"You're right," she muttered distastefully. "The boss would probably want to hear this."

Lydia nodded with a shrug and fixed her hair. She was wearing a black dress and a whole selection of beady jewelry, including a crystal ring she'd bought at a ninety-nine cents store one Halloween, she also had her hair done up all big and Allison had painted her face heavy with dark, smoky eye shadow and mauve lipstick to play the funky part.

It was probably stereotypical as hell, but she hadn't exactly had time to come up with a better look.

"Please wait a moment," the receptionist muttered, dialing a number. When she was done, she hadn't spoken a word, only listened. Still, somehow, it seemed, the message had been conveyed.

"You go up that elevator, straight to the top floor. Do not, and I repeat, do _not_ , roam about anywhere else, unless of course, you want to be dismembered," when they both stared at her blankly, she laughed and claimed she was joking.

They were both overly aware that she was not.

They strolled over to the elevator.

It was time to go up face to face against Peter Hale.


	32. Shadow Preachers

_It's a really old city_  
 _split between the dead and the living_  
 _so I thought to myself_  
 _sitting on a graveyard shelf_  
 _and the gift of my heartbeat_  
 _sounds like a symphony_  
 _played by a cemetery in the center of Queens._

* * *

Stiles

"I'm worried," he mumbled. "Me too," Allison agreed.

"They'll be fine," Scott said, sounding even more unsure than the two of them combined.

"Maybe... Maybe we should go after them,"

"No, absolutely not. We have to stick to the plan," Allison said, crisply. "We have to believe they can do it. As crazy as our plan is, it's the one least likely to end in all of our untimely deaths."

"You're right." Stiles sighed. "Of course I'm right," she said, rather casually.

"Now we've simply got to wait for Malia to give us the green signal and then we ambush."

 **ONE WEEK AGO**

"I shooed her away," Scott said, marching back in. "But dude, I've gotta tell you, she looked pissed. Like... the wrath of hell fire pissed. Also utterly crushed... roach underfoot crushed. You're the dumbest guy I've ever met leaving a girl like that to hang in the air,"

Stiles' stomach lurched unpleasantly. "You know I had to,"

"No, you didn't have to. You had a bad dream and it's screwing up your reality."

"It wasn't just a dream, Scott. It was... I can't explain it, but you've gotta trust me."

"All I see is a broken girl and an idiot who thinks he knows what's best for everyone but himself," Scott grumbled, rolling his eyes and leaping onto the bed. Stiles took another swig of the beer he'd been chugging down like it was medicine. Scott stared, alarmed.

"Is that your sixth can of beer?" he asked, glancing at the empty six pack lying next to him.

"Probably," Stiles agreed.

"What the hell, man. Does the superhuman powers extend to superhuman tolerance?"

"Probably," he repeated.

"I'm surprised you haven't pissed the bed already, or puked up your dinner,"

"Maybe I have, maybe we're sitting in it."

Scott scrunched up his nose in disgust. "Come on. Stop this brooding white guy bullshit. We've got bigger concerns, like the whole city's power being out, like evil corporate douche-weasels plotting the destruction of the Big Apple,"

"Lydia could die at any moment, and I'd never forgive myself."

"We could all die at any moment, and that's exactly why you should be keeping her as close to you as humanly possible instead of pushing her away," Scott reasoned.

"No," Stiles muttered, his stomach squirming again. His mouth tasted less like beer and more like misery. "No, the further she is from me, the safer she'll be. I'm like radioactive or something. People get too close and I desecrate them."

"You haven't desecrated me yet," Scott said, with a small smile. Stiles looked up at his best friend as he gently took the last can of beer out of his hands and put it down on the night stand.

"And you know, you are, technically; radioactive. Just not like that."

Stiles didn't respond.

Scott sighed. "Look, you're smarter than this, Stiles. It still isn't too late. I can call Lydia back right now. You don't have to ruin your relationship over a stupid and unreliable notion. Let's call her back before the damage you cause is beyond repair."

Stiles mustered a smile of his own, although it felt just as stale as the beer. Scott was the best friend he could ask for, and an even greater person, but there were just some things he wouldn't understand.

"Maybe you'd make a better Spiderman," he said, obscurely.

Scott frowned and he felt his stomach reproach for the third time.

 **PRESENT DAY**

The back door entrance which had been sealed shut began to lift open, green lights flashed, it was show time.

Allison and Scott were already charging in, Spiderman took a moment to turn around and admire the sun bowing out of the sky. And then he followed them into the dark.

The first two guards were defeated easily, they didn't have any special powers, they were merely big and burly looking, but Allison got one with her tranquilizing arrows, and all Scott had to do was flash his teeth at the other to disconcert him.

"This way," Allison pointed to a third doorway, also sliding open for them. Isaac and Malia were right on time and had managed to hit every mark. The third doorway led them to an illuminated hallway with linoleum floors and fluorescent lighting, the air was heavy with some kind of expensive cologne. It didn't exactly scream evil, but merely the fact that the world hadn't stopped in here like it had outside was unsettling enough.

"There," Scott said, Spiderman followed his eyes. The elevator. They rushed over until all three of them were pushed back by a mighty gust of wind that rattled their bones.

Scott got slammed into the wall again, Allison ducked and rolled onto her side, Spiderman felt his spine meet the floor with a thud.

"Old friends!" Stern smirked, feigning delight; or maybe he was really delighted, Stiles couldn't tell. "You've returned. What a wonderfully pleasant development."

"You sure about that?" Allison was already up on her feet, and instead of shooting arrows at him, she charged at him, only he used his control over wind to defy gravity, yank her up until she was dangling in the air, and cut off her air supply, so she was struggling and hovering half in the air, choking as if she was getting strangled, her knuckles and face white as bone.

"You should've stayed gone, because I'm not letting you live after what you pulled on me," Stern said, his smile turning sour.

"Don't you touch her!" Scott growled so loudly Stiles was surprised when the building didn't fall apart.

"Look, man. Your war was with Void, the guy was a dick and you shouldn't have brought him to the surface in the first place, and even though you destroyed my life I'm giving you a shot at seeing reason. Let us pass through. Nobody has to get hurt."

"It's too late for that, _Stiles_ ," he spat.

"We can negotiate something. Okay? Just put her down."

"Let me think about that. Yeah, _no_."

Scott was the second one to charge at him, until he was met with the same treatment, launched up into the air, slowly being throttled to death by invisible ropes.

"You've done enough, Stern. It's time to end this, once and for all." Spiderman also charged at him, but he dodged his wind bullets and wedged himself to the ceiling like a literal spider.

"You know what they say about spiders," he quipped. "We're _awfully_ sticky."

Stern groaned and attempted to lunge at him, dropping both Scott and Allison to the ground in the process, Spiderman leapt off the wall and landed on the man's back, riding him like a bull, wrapping his arms around his neck.

Allison shot him with her arrows, once, twice, thrice, while he was distracting him and Stern collapsed to the ground; paralyzed.

"How's that feel, big guy?" Spiderman asked, shooting off of him. "Yeah, not very pleasant now. Is it?"

It stung to think that this jerk knew his identity. It stung even more to remember that he was the reason Void ever disrupted all of their lives and Stiles loathed the guy like blood, like fire, like no hatred he'd ever felt before, constricting in his throat and vaporizing any remorse or mercy he may have once felt.

He wouldn't lie, there was a part of him that ached to resort to kill.

Scott seemed to read his mind, somehow.

"No man," he said, looking at Spiderman dead in the eyes. "We're not killers."

"No matter how much this _half-priced scumbag rodent piece of smelly garbage_ deserves it. We can't kill him." Scott insisted, stressing now.

Spiderman nodded his head, slowly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath for a moment, hoping his nerves would stop jabbing at him. "You're right. Let's... Let's keep going."

"He should stay down for at least twenty-four hours now. There's literally no way he could move even a muscle. Three of these babies are enough to freeze his lips, even."

As they bounded towards the elevator, Spiderman turned around to gawk at the defeated body of the man who'd successfully ruined his life. Even if they won now, there would always be something missing from him, from all of them; and it was all Stern's fault.

Stern, lying there still as a bark, with his cheek flat against the polished floors, mustered the most grotesque smile Spiderman had ever seen, and the glint in his eyes: something maniacal and atrocious; told him he was not sorry for whatever he did, and that he was proud of it, even.

Stern was a despicable creature, lavishing in the torment of others. He knew that even though he'd lost, he'd won a part of Stiles' soul, and Stiles would forever detest him for it.

Spiderman headed back to Stern, came to a stop over the man's head, stared at his despicable face for a moment, and spat on it.

"Burn in hell, where you belong."

"Come on!" Allison called. "Hurry!"

He slid into the gradually closing elevator, his heart roaring in his ears _. Fury, sorrow, respite._

Lydia

 **ONE WEEK AGO**

"It was a real dick move," Allison said, teeth gnashing, as she ran her fingers through her best friend's hair soothingly. "But Stiles is less of a dick than most guys I know, he'll come to his senses."

Lydia wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come, so she just lay there on Allison's bedroom floor with her back pressed against the butt of the bed, seeking comfort in her friend's sanctuary and hogging on a tub of ice cream.

"It's all melty," Lydia pouted, staring at the chocolate soup she was swirling her spoon around in. "Yeah, the refrigerator runs on _electricity_ , a commodity we're kind of lacking at the moment." Allison said.

This was why Lydia loved her best friend. Allison could've said that in a rude or condescending way, perhaps to reproach her stupid comment, but instead, she remained merely factual. Allison was the most honest person Lydia knew, and she always painted the world as it was. There was no pity, there was no 'I'm going to lie and tell you that everything's going to be okay just to make you feel better', there was just true and false. If something sucked, it sucked. She would acknowledge pain rather than dismiss it.

"Your boyfriend was there," Lydia said. "He was with him. He made up that stupid diarrhea excuse again."

Allison chuckled fondly at that, her eyes molten as honey in the candlelight. "It's kind of adorable," she said.

"More like questionable, but then again, you find everything about him adorable."

"I do, don't I?" she smiled. "Lydia," she said. "I told him that I'm in love with him last night. That he's my first love. The only one I'll ever love."

"Wow. Gutsy move." Lydia took a spoonful of her melted ice cream. "Do you truly believe that?"

There was something strange there, for a second, in Allison's gaze or her posture. Lydia felt like she was flashing back to one of her foreboding dreams. It came to her, and then it was gone. Within seconds. Like a flickering lightning bug. She shrugged it off.

"Yeah, I really do." Allison admitted.

Lydia nodded. "How'd he react to that?"

"He told me that he loved me, too. I know that the whole world's going to hell, but it was kind of the best night of my life."

"I'm glad," this wasn't a lie. Lydia was truly exhilarated for her friend, even if her own love life was up in the air at the moment.

"Hey, I better be the maid of honor at your wedding. In fact, you're hiring me to plan _and_ cater." Lydia said, instantly.

"Whoa, hold your horses on that one," Allison said.

"Hey, let me live vicariously through the happy sunshine bubble that is the love between you and Scott, okay?"

Allison squeezed Lydia's arm. "You'll get over this. You both will. I don't believe you can stay mad at Stiles forever. And vice versa."

"Do you seriously think so?"

"I know so. Tell me. What do you see in your future?"

"I see... I see myself being the annoying aunt who drinks too much and has more cats than she can name and yells at the neighborhood kids to get off of her lawn and falls asleep watching re-runs of some B-rated soap opera for lonely fifty-year-olds."

"Wow. That's like the opposite of you." Allison said, rolling her eyes.

Lydia narrowed her own. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, for starters, you and Stiles are going to end up together. If I believed in soul mates, I'd even go as far as to say you two are like, meant to be. Like, it's fate or something, but since I don't, I'm just going to say you two are stuck together. And you're also both chin-deep in a sea of feelings for each other. He looks at you with those kicked-puppy eyes, like he has to keep his gaze on you or you'll dissapear on him; fade into the darkness. And he's the only person who can make you smile like that,"

"Like what?" Lydia felt an invisible force tug at her lips.

"Like that, you're doing it right now," Allison pointed out.

"No, I'm not,"

Allison laughed. "Yes, you are. And you don't even realize it."

Lydia sighed, her laughter dying in her throat. "I had this dream," she confessed, deciding to tell her friend about something that had been bothering her for a while now. "It was another banshee dream. I was covered in blood, dying. Stiles was there too. He was terrified."

"Dreams are just dreams," Allison said, reassuringly. "They aren't wishes, or premonitions like you think. I mean, you said it yourself. Genius, very. Psychic, not much."

"Yeah, yeah. You're right." Lydia said, sighing again.

Truth was, she wasn't so sure. But it was also true that none of her dreams had really come true except for Void... Void had been in her dreams before he'd even emerged. _Coincidence,_ she told herself. _Merely a coincidence._

Sometimes, coincidences felt too contrived to be coincidences.

 _Push the thought away,_ the sane, logical side of her brain scolded.

"Hey," she said, piping up. "Do you remember when we were kids and we talked about conquering the world?"

"We wanted to be Russian spies. The Rainbow Renegade Squad. I remember. I think we were just reading too much Nancy Drew," Allison said, with a smirk.

"Yeah, but look at us now. I can throw a punch without stumbling and falling on my butt and you kick some major ass. I mean, your catsuit is straight out of a Marvel movie."

Allison nodded, pulling Lydia closer. "I'm proud of us."

"You remember our catch phrase?"

"I'll save the world. But I'll need lipstick first."

They both chuckled heartily, and it reverberated through the dark, barren home, through their throats, through the newly warmed night.

"Do you ever miss it?" Lydia asked. "Being a kid?"

Ali shrugged. "Sometimes. But I'm happy with who I've become. For the first time in my life, Lydia. I look at myself in the mirror and I'm in love with the girl I see staring back at me. It's like, I've fulfilled my true purpose in life, answered my real calling. Saving people, aiding Scott and Spiderman... It gives me a rush. Like falling through clouds or swimming around with fishes. If there's one way I'll accept going out, is if I'm going out in a blaze of glory, you know? Saving someone's life or dismantling a bomb. Making the world remember Allison Argent was here. Especially when I looked into my family history, some of my ancestors; the feats they've accomplished... You know my great-great-great-something grandmother Marie Jeanne Valet was the only person in her entire village who could defeat this raging scoundrel beast who'd been terrorizing the town for decades?"

"That's amazing, Allison."

"Yeah, my family records are like glimpsing at a book of world records."

"Well, you may not have detonated a bomb, but you _do_ save lives, every single day. And you break several world records when it comes to being the best friend whose ever best friended. I love you, Ali."

"I love you, too, Lydia. Now let's talk about something else before there are tears. You know I don't do cheese."

Lydia chuckled. "Come on. You know you love being showered with compliments." She said, flicking a spoon of icky chocolate at her friend's face.

"Hey! Gross!" Allison said, eyes widening, but Lydia could tell she was trying to keep from bursting into a laughing hysteria.

They'd spent the rest of the evening rinsing the chocolate out of their hair and clothes and Lydia had managed to forget, at least, momentarily, that the world was waiting to implode on them and that Stiles had torn some part of her soul to shreds.

 **PRESENT DAY**

Peter Hale was everything she'd envisioned him to be, and nothing like it at the same time.

He was intimidating for starters, but that was probably only because of how he looked like one of those people who wielded their wealth as a weapon, he was extremely well-dressed, in a spotless maroon suit and shoes that looked like they'd been licked clean by a chowder of cats.

His office was a demon of its own kind, well-lit and spacious, large windows with the best city skyline view money could afford, petite crystal chandeliers adorned the ceiling, his office chair looked to be of the finest leather and it also featured a wooden desk, an aquarium, a large smart TV and a virtual golf course.

Lydia would've been impressed but all she could see was blood on the walls. All this luxurious stuff... procured on blood money. It was nauseating.

Peter Hale was standing with his back towards them and admiring the dark ghastly view of the smoldering city whilst sipping his evening champagne, a record player tuned old sixties classics softly in the background. Lydia felt her heart begging to crawl out of her mouth.

"There's something beautiful about it, you've got to admit," Peter blabbed, still without turning around. "It's like how a wildfire blazes sublime sparks of gold, or how a storm gallops across a corn field... An unstoppable, powerful, primal force to be reckoned with."

"It's chaos out there," Lydia muttered, lips tight.

"Perhaps, but it's always peaceful in the eye of the storm,"

Lydia was already repulsed, but she didn't respond because Peter kept talking.

"It's good to see you again, nephew. I'll have to admit, I didn't expect you to still be alive, but I guess we were fated to meet again."

Derek had stilled beside her. For a few considerably stupid seconds, she was having trouble wrapping her head around the fact that this evil douchebag had just addressed one of them as his nephew and it was obviously not her he was talking to. She actually felt dizzy for a couple of moments, before she could gather herself.

"You're his _nephew?_ " she asked, bewildered.

Derek didn't say anything at first, he merely clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut a moment, like he was trying to calm himself down.

Perhaps it made sense, _Derek Hale._ They'd all been so carried away with the task at hand that nobody had realized that they share the same last name. Still, Lydia felt dumb _. So much for having an above average IQ._

He'd hidden it from them and she felt betrayed, even if they weren't exactly friends. All the color flooded out of his face. "You," Derek sounded extremely on edge. " _You_ sent those... those dead creatures after me,"

Peter Hale turned around. "Are you accusing me of some kind of demonic ritual? I mean, even with all of my resources, I can't make miracles happen. I can't bring the dead back to life."

"I know it was you! You're the reason I'm human again!"

Peter broke into the easiest smile Lydia had ever seen, as if they'd just been chatting over tea and biscuits. "I thought it would be a nice little gift for my favorite nephew. You were always moaning and groaning about how the bite turned you into a monster. Now you're free to be anyone you want to be. Mundane and mortal. _Freedom_. You should be thanking me."

Derek growled, and she had to grab his arm to keep him from lunging at the man immediately. Not that she was strong enough to keep him from doing so if he really wanted to, but she'd sunk her nails deep enough into his skin that it would truly sting if he tried.

Lydia took a brave step forward, even if her insides were prepping to malt into jelly. "We have news for you,"

"Ah, right. You're the psychic. Or shall I say... banshee? Not the same thing, you know. I may have taken a mythology class when I was in college. You really think that hideous outfit was going to make you more legible? I'd say the psychic witches will burn you at the stake for merely the implication that they dress so stereotypically,"

"Shut up," Derek snapped.

Lydia had learned quite a lot about Peter Hale even if she'd only met him five minutes ago. He was clearly pompous, egoistic and sardonic. He took pleasure in his power, he feasted on it. He was greedy and thought himself hilarious. He was one of the most sarcastic people she'd ever met and he loved to waste time on talking, he enjoyed games of cat and mouse; he preferred to butter up his prey before the pounce.

Despite his jocular tone and his ostentatious appearance however, there was more to this man than _sanctimonious son of a bitch,_ which was what she'd thought of him at first.

Peter Hale had this perpetual undertone of menace, there was always something dark and rattling brewing in his eyes, he was the kind of guy who'd pretend like he was losing the chess match just before check-mating you in the most clever and complicated way possible, leaving you open-mouthed and overwhelmed.

"Just shut up, uncle. I've had enough of your games to last a lifetime. Why are you doing this? I mean, I always knew you were evil but this... wanting to take over an entire city? You were doing just fine in the shadows. Why come out? Why now?" Derek asked.

"Because I can be a _god!"_ he said it so loudly she actually flinched.

 _Okay, he's fanatical._

"I could do so much more damage out in the open than flittering about in the shadows, and I was sick and tired of smiling to the cameras, hiding my true motives from the world. You can call me many things nephew, but I do not take mirth in lies."

Peter scoffed as he continued. "If only you weren't such a little do-gooder, we could've taken over the world together! I am the patron saint of the down and the duped! I will do what even Hitler wasn't successful in achieving!"

Lydia laughed. " _Take over the world?_ At least Hitler was realistic, you're just delusional."

Peter smiled. "I know why you're here, girlie. To distract me. Unfortunately for you, I know exactly where your friends are, I know exactly what move they're making at every point in time. Currently, they're on their way up. I am going to allow them to best my guards and I am going to let them into my office and then, then the real fun will begin!"

Lydia listened as her own thoughts echoed back to her. _He was the kind of guy who'd pretend like he was losing the chess match just before check-mating you_. Every hair at the back of her neck stood up in alarm.

Spiderman had no idea what was coming to him.

She met Derek's eyes, she could tell he was thinking the same thing. Panic erupted inside her chest like a volcano, her heart stuttered.

She didn't know what she was thinking but it seemed like the only thing to do in that moment in time, so she screamed.

* * *

 _All we can do is try_  
 _and live like we're still alive._

* * *

 **A/N: PLEASE REVIEW. Do I have to write it in neon? I swear I feel like I'm updating for a bunch of ghosts. Is it so hard to read and then drop me a review? I'm not trying to be rude, but I am writing this story for you, and providing it to you for FREE, and I would appreciate some appreciation for it. Even if it's just one word. I'd love that, thanks.**


	33. I See Fire

_I'm going to get married today,_  
 _the chapel is full of crosses and bouquets,_  
 _we pray to the wax bride and her violet varicose veins,_  
 _kiss me with forever where only death remains._

 _I can be good, I can be true.  
_ _You know I don't love anyone, but I love you._

* * *

Stiles

"Do you hear that?" Allison's voice sounded strained.

Scott nodded. "Lydia's in trouble,"

"No," Spiderman bit his bottom lip. It was stupid, but he was beginning to familiarize with Lydia's screams, this didn't sound like a scream of agony or pain... It sounded like it was...

It was to alert them, like a warning signal.

" _We're_ in trouble," he corrected.

Suddenly, the scream just stopped, as if someone had kicked her right in the windpipe or wrapped their hands around her neck. Spiderman felt his heart burst into flame.

" _Now_ she's in trouble," Scott said.

The elevator doors rolled open. They ran.

Spiderman didn't look around, admire the office's furnishings, he didn't even really look at Peter.

All he saw was Lydia - Lydia in danger, just like he'd been so afraid would happen.

The nightmare came back to him in vivid color and surround sound, the blood staining her dress, her limp, frosted white arms under his own, the way her hair stuck to her face in wet clumps, her facial features all relaxing, her very last shuddering breath...

Spiderman actually felt pangs inside his chest, but he bit down the pain, the anxiety, the paranoia. Peter Hale was sat with his Italian leather shoes propped up on his desk, he was sipping on some fancy drink and reading a newspaper while Derek lay unconscious against the wall on one side, and a big, bald guy with snake green eyes held Lydia; his fist was fastened around her neck, her eyes were wide open in terror.

"LET HER GO!" Spiderman yelled, voice high and commanding.

"Uh, uh, uh," Peter Hale said. "Weapons down. Every single one. Or this pretty little girl surrounded by death is going to go for a swim in it."

Allison tensed next to him, she had an arrow pointed right at Peter's head, Scott was wolfed out, set for an attack. "Do... Do as he says," Spiderman said, stammering. "But -" Allison started.

 _"Now!"_

Allison lowered her arrow.

"Weapons _down_ ," he repeated. "On the ground. Nice and easy."

"Do it," Spiderman muttered. "Just do it."

Allison left her weapons on the floor. "The knives too, honey." Peter said, smirking.

Allison looked astounded that he'd sussed it out, but she yanked three knives off of her, two from her boots and one from her pocket.

"There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it? I love it when we all cooperate."

Spiderman put both his hands up in surrender. Lydia twisted and turned against her assailant.

"We won't touch our weapons, now let her _go_." Scott said, between gritted teeth.

"Sure, of course, yeah. Or maybe not. Riddle me this, spiderman. How did you manage to get to my evil lair so easily? I mean, there's not a scratch on you."

"You knew we were coming," he said between gritted teeth.

Peter let another smile loose. "I _wanted_ you to be here. It's not really a party without a throw down, is it?"

"Cut the bullshit. Let Lydia go or I swear to god -"

Peter cut Allison off, looking bored. "Shut her up," he said, with merely a wave of his hand, one of his minions strolled in, apparently materializing from the shadows, and aimed a gun at her throat.

"You, take the little girl out to play," this was to the buff looking man who had Lydia.

They disappeared, quite literally, as soon as Peter had made the command, it was like they were all his puppets and he held their strings.

Spiderman wasn't quite sure what exactly this guy's powers were, whether he was able to turn invisible or simply teleport by vanishing into thin air.

All he knew was that Lydia was gone.

"Where is she?" he was having trouble keeping his voice steady now.

"She's alive," Peter assured. "For now."

He then poured himself another glass of sparkling cider and took a quick sip. "So tell me, why are you here kids? Is it because you want to steal my toys?"

"We're here to put an end to your rubbish," Scott barked, practically on fire; his nostrils flaring and his eyes dead set on Peter. "You can't get away with this," Spiderman began.

"Oh, but I already have," Peter was laughing, his untailored mirth just pissed them all off even more. Suddenly, all the power in the building went out. Even the music on the recorder stopped playing. Peter's grin disappeared.

"I guess you don't have a plan up your sleeve for everything after all," Spiderman said, with a smirk. Isaac and Malia had taken out their back-up generator, and if all was going well, they were probably in the process of destroying all the equipment Wolfram & Hart used in the creating of all these superpowers. "Maybe you're not as much in control as you'd like to think," Scott added. Allison grinned, and moving like lightning, kicked the underling pointing the gun at her throat in the shins, he fired a couple shots, but they went flimsily into the air as she lunged on top of him and grappled him.

"Who do you have?" he rose his voice. "Who else got in to this building?"

None of them answered him, his rage rose. "All units dispatch, track down the infiltrators and bring them to me. I want them alive, I repeat, keep them _alive_ ," Peter spat into his telecommunicators.

Allison had two of Peter's guys tied up and defeated, their eyes were wide like rabbits on the run. Scott had slipped out through the back to locate Lydia.

Peter's entire face went sour. "You forget I have your girl," he said. "A flick of the wrist," he reminded. "Is all it takes and my guy will snap her like a twig."

"A flick of _my_ wrist," Allison cut in. "And I can snap both of your guys like twigs too."

"Let's see whose more important then. My men, or your girl," Peter said, voice calm for someone who was being constantly threatened.

The pure mortification and surprise painted on the faces of the men Allison had beaten, told him that Peter didn't truly care if they were to die by her hand (even though she would never kill a soul, they didn't know that), he had little compassion for his subordinates; and anyone who wasn't named Peter Hale was expendable.

Spiderman felt bile rise in his throat at the mere suggestion of something like that.

"Tell me something, Spiderman. Who are you? It's the one thing I haven't been able to figure out, even after I put some of my best men on it," Peter said, loosening up despite recent events.

"What makes you think I'm going to tell you?" he asked, raising his chin a little. "I'm wearing a mask for a reason, you know, secret identity and all that. Kinda don't wanna ruin the mystery."

Peter smirked. "You've got guts, kid. I'll give you that, but soon enough, my subordinates will find your little helper elves and bring them to me, I will kill your friends and the banshee and you will be left with nothing. See... I want you suffering and alive. I think the two of us could work very well together. I'd like to bring back your counterpart. He was so much more fun than you are."

"If you know who I am," he said between gritted teeth. "Then why did you ask?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me the truth, see, I may have mentioned earlier, I mean, it's a nitpick really, but I just can't stand people who lie right to my face."

And then too many things happened at once, all leaving Spiderman vulnerable and discombobulated. Peter whirled around and began to change, fangs, hair and claws seemed to emerge from him like he was sprouting a new body, like a snake seasoning. Allison had knocked two of his men out, but more surfaced from the dark lobbies, immediately, she dove for her weapons and lunged in to attack, but two of them had Malia and Isaac. Malia's mouth and hands were gagged and her forehead was bleeding, Isaac was wolfed out but his t-shirt was ripped and he was limping, he was also gagged; his eyes were rheumy.

Derek broke out of his funk and charged at Peter, only to get flicked off like a fly. Scott had returned, but Lydia wasn't with him, he instantly leapt into the battle by the doorway to free Isaac and Malia and aid Allison who'd previously been trying to take out five men all by herself.

Spiderman readied himself and then he was running towards a large, blue-eyed werewolf just aching to huff and puff at him. If Spiderman had ever felt weirded out by Derek or Scott, Peter's creepy wolf form shot them both out of the sky. It was like trying to fight Big Foot or King Kong, terrifying because your prospects seemed slim as thin ice, but also kind of ridiculous because you're a spider and they're a giant, eight-foot woodland monster.

 _Too late to regret the decision now..._ Peter struck the first blow, nearly knocking the air out of Stiles' lungs, it was like his fists were forged with metal.

Despite the growing pains in his chest, he managed to steady himself on his heels to keep from collapsing miserably to the floor and instead dodged the next three blows aimed his way.

Peter growled, revealing a sharp set of teeth that made him relive every Jaws movie fear he ever had as a kid. Peter's eyes were hypnotizing. Spiderman had a few of his own tricks, but his webs wouldn't cut it this time and Peter was too fast, dodging all his blows just as he was.

It was a losing fight from the get go. The world around them spun. Those horrifyingly luminescent eyes and the pointed tips of his canines were all Spiderman could see for a while. With his eyes open and with his eyes closed. He felt his heart begin to pace. His suit, for once, felt sticky and uncomfortable. Glasses were shattered. Screams reverberated like gun shots. There was blood. Peter's. His. He couldn't tell in the heat of it all.

Then he heard his best friend call out to him, just before charging in to join him.

Scott was still wolfed out, blood trailed streams down his right ear and his jaw. He was breathing heavily. His eyes were glowing too, but they weren't as blinding as Peter's. While looking straight into Peter's wolf eyes felt like staring directly into the sun, looking into Scott's eyes was strange, almost consoling... like neon lights in the dark.

Scott leaped, spun around and kicked Peter right in the face, once again reminding Spiderman of how utterly inhuman they all were.

Behind them, Allison was still fighting Peter's subordinates, with the help of Malia and Isaac; now free. Lydia and her captor were still nowhere in sight.

"Give it up boys," Peter said, in a loud, gruff voice that grated like nails on a chalkboard.

Scott flinched, Spiderman just kept going at him, but he was wiping himself out.

For some reason, Peter was withdrawing from landing a fatal blow, and so was he, of course, his reason was that he wasn't evil and he wasn't going to kill the guy, no matter how much the son of a bitch deserved it... but why wasn't Peter killing him?

He'd had a chance multiple times.

Maybe he _really_ didn't enjoy getting his own hands dirty...

Like he'd read his mind, Peter called a time out, morphing back into his human self. "Look, kid. I don't have to take you out. I don't like being unnecessarily ruthless,"

"Yeah? It's a little too late for that. You've destroyed this whole city! You've killed hundreds! Men, women, children. You probably would've killed more if we hadn't gotten them evacuated in time,"

"Those were my subordinates, I have no hand in what they do in their spare time. And what do you think? I'm stupid enough to let the ineffectual likes of the NYPD overwhelm _me?_ I _let_ those people leave. What I want is power, to build a better city, a better world. I can't have a world without people, now can I?"

"You're full of shit," Scott spat, angrily. "Or just extremely delusional," Spiderman added, with respite.

"All those criminals you turned? They're _your_ little pet projects. You're the one who busted them out of jail. You handpicked the worst of the worst, criminals who'd finally been captured and tucked away and you juiced them up with powers they couldn't even control and made them even more horrible and then you let them loose on innocent people. You're a killer, Peter Hale. Their blood is on your hands. If your so-called 'subordinate' kills Lydia today, her blood too, will be on your hands. You're the orchestrator of this mess. If you have any shame, any guilt at all, give up this charade and the worst you'll face is a few years in jail and maybe community service and we can put this all behind us. You can...You can still come back from this,"

Scott looked stunned Spiderman was even bothering to negotiate with this guy, but he had to try.

For a moment, Peter almost looked swayed, and Spiderman thought he could breathe a sigh of relief, but then his features darkened.

"I am _this_ close," he bellowed, eyes wild, mouth hanging half-open, the scars Spiderman had managed to leave on him only seemed to make him look more demented. Gone was the posh, stylized and suited man they'd encountered before, he only wore a mask of sophistication, of empathy and value. In reality, he was a monster in every acrid sense of the word and now with his torn clothes and his disheveled hair and his blood-soaked skin, he looked the part. " _This_ close to getting what I've always wanted and _you_ will not butcher that for me!"

He gave the kill order to his guy. The man, along with Lydia, reappeared out of thin air like they'd always been in the room.

The banshee let out one final scream and it echoed strife, suffering, pain.

It echoed death.

 _"No!"_ Allison dived for Lydia's captor just as he was raising his sword.

"No, no, no, no!" Lydia was still screaming, or sobbing, or both. "Allison, _don't!"_

Lydia's captor dropped her, she fell to her knees, her eyes pulverized by fear.

Peter began to morph again. "I'm sorry it had to be this way," he began, whatever he wanted to add, Spiderman didn't let him finish his sentence. He grabbed Peter's arm and twisted it, Scott punched him in the gut, a couple more of Peter's friends joined the death match, thankfully, Isaac, Malia and even Derek were all helping out, fending them off.

Everything was going momentarily swell, Spiderman thought that with all his friends fighting by his side, they would overcome Peter and make it out.

It was one moment of weakness.

Spiderman whirled around to look at Lydia and his entire world came crashing down around him. Lydia was weeping on the floor. Eyes rheumy and red.

She was covered in blood, but it wasn't her own.

 _"ALLISON!"_ she screamed.

Next to him, he detected movement. Swift as a storm, Scott sped across the room and caught a falling Allison. The bald man had run her through with the sword. Alarm held all of the brunette's features captive, Spiderman felt his knees weaken, Peter grabbed him from behind, lacing an arm heavy as steel around his neck, in an attempt to choke him.

Spiderman's bones weakened to the point where he couldn't fight back. He was paralyzed by dread.

Scott was on the floor, his expression was a portrait of trepidation.

He looked like a cloudburst waiting to happen.

Allison was bleeding out in his lap.

Lydia was just staring, disillusioned now. Tears stained her heartbroken face. Lydia's assailant dropped to the ground too, dying thanks to Allison's last arrow.

Isaac's eyes widened and he leapt on one of Peter's other minions who hadn't even been a part of the fight, who'd just stood there in the shadows. Malia followed, baring her fangs in outrage.

For a moment, nothing mattered and the whole world seemed to fall silent.

He was aware that Peter was attempting to choke the life out of him, that his claws were digging into the soft flesh of his throat, that the lights all around them were flickering on and off like a horror movie. .

Scott was a flame, bright and volatile. Allison was burning.

Stiles' own heart had caught fire and was following suit.

Everything illuminating momentarily like a tear of light in the sky, and then darkening again.

He was also aware that he was watching a friend die.

Lydia

Lydia still remembered the first day she'd met Allison Argent.

When she was a little girl, she'd read stories about love at first sight, and that's sort of what it had been like. The moment she'd laid eyes on the girl she'd decided that they were going to be best friends. Allison had been there through it all; every bad breakup, every broken dream, when her father had first left her mother and her family was coming undone; she'd wept in Allison's arms. When she used to get drunk at parties dancing with strangers and getting sick to her stomach, Allison would dive in, come to her rescue, pry her off the boys and drive her home, she even tucked her safely into bed and texted her instructions for the best hangover cures. Whenever she let Jackson walk all over her, Allison would be the one to say, "stand up for yourself, you're stronger than this, you're smarter than this".

Allison had never given up on her.

And she'd promised to never give up on Allison either.

She'd promised to never...

She'd known it as soon as he'd placed the ice cold tip of the sword against her throat. The voices were all frenzied. Banshees never predicted their own deaths; which meant that somebody else was going to die. At first, she thought it was going to be Stiles.

And then she saw Allison diving in to save her life yet again -

Bile was gathering towards her throat, her stomach felt like it was on fire.

Lydia closed her eyes and waited, any moment now, she would wake and it would all be okay.

This was a bad dream, that's all it was.

"Allison," Scott was barely breathing, his face was all scrunched up like crumpled paper.

"Is she okay? Is Lydia safe?" the brunette asked, brown eyes wide, boring into Scott's.

Lydia was right behind them, but she couldn't move, or speak. Her own body was betraying her. Lydia's jaw fell loose, nothing was making any sense.

This didn't make any sense.

Something was happening in the distance. Spiderman and Derek were still fighting off Peter...

Lydia's heart was turning to mush, she couldn't pay heat to anything except for the horrid events playing out right in front of her eyes.

Allison, so beautiful, so real, her best friend...

Was the world coming to an end?

And all the red... so much red...

All she could do was watch, because stupid banshees only predicted death, they didn't prevent it. What good was a superpower that did nothing but envisage misery, loss and pain?

"She's okay. Yeah." Scott began.

Lydia could tell he was having trouble speaking.

"I can't, I can't take your pain," fear was beginning to encrust Scott's features.

He was cradling her in his arms, running his hands all over her face and hair, she was trembling a little, but for some reason she didn't look sad or terrified...

"It's because it doesn't hurt." She confirmed.

Scott looked astonished and then just crestfallen.

"No." was all that came out of his mouth.

Lydia was benumbed. She wanted to move her hands and feet. She wanted to move her mouth. Instead, she was frozen in a block of invisible ice. Her heart threatening to melt into nothingness.

"It's okay," Allison reassured, her lips straining for a smile.

Scott began to shake, tears flooding his eyes. "Allison," he began to sob incessantly. Lydia's throat felt like it was being poked at with a thousand little pricks.

"It's okay, it's okay," Allison repeated. "It's okay."

Scott wouldn't quit sobbing. Lydia had never seen him this broken down, this vulnerable, this... helpless. He was a dying flame. He was a withering ghost.

"It's perfect. I'm in the arms of my first love. The first person I ever loved," she said, breaking into a smile that only made Lydia shudder. "The person I'll always love."

Scott continued to tremble and bawl. "I love you, Scott. Scott McCall."

"Don't _, please._ Don't. Allison! _Don't, please."_

Allison closed her eyes.

Scott began to heave.

Lydia found her voice, but it was too late. She was screaming her best friend's name now, incessantly, as if it would bring her back to life, as if it would rattle the skies...

 _Come back._

This was not happening.

Her best friend was dead. Her best friend was dead. Her best friend was...

* * *

 **A/N: i'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msorry I had to okay. I'm SORRY. Please, please don't show up at my doorstep with guns and knives. You all must've seen it coming. It had to happen. It _had_ to. I'msorryi'msorryi'msorry. Please do review. I'd like to hear your violent thoughts. *goes into perpetual hiding in a remote six-feet hole*.**


	34. Everglow

_Like brothers in blood,_  
 _sisters who ride_  
 _yeah, we swore on that night,_  
 _we'd be friends till we died,_  
 _but the changing of winds_  
 _and the way waters flow_  
 _life as short as falling of snow,_  
 _and now I'm gonna miss you, I know_

* * *

Stiles

 _He's trying to kill you. Wake up. Snap out of it._

Allison Argent was dead.

Allison Argent was dead.

And the two people he cared about most in this world were devastated because of it.

Allison Argent was dead and it was likely all his fault.

Derek jumped into the brawl to aid him, disrupting Peter's grip on him completely. That was enough to shake him out of his funk, at least temporarily. If he continued to lose himself in the ultra despair and shock of what had just happened, more people would die, including he himself.

Spiderman was no good to anyone dead.

When he turned around and watched Derek and Peter fight, he realized the resemblance in their moves, the way both their eyes glowed with the same fire, even their anger reverberated in analogous growls. This was a family feud.

Except for one major difference, while Derek wore his fury like armor, Peter wore his like a weapon.

Scott was seething, his face burning the color of rage. Lydia was now holding Allison's lifeless body, weeping silently and too grief-stricken to help.

"I'm going to kill the bastard!" he spat. Spiderman pushed him back. "We'll handle him. We don't kill, remember? That's what you said. We're not killers."

"He killed her! He killed Allison!"

"Shh, I know. And he's going to pay for what he's done. Just not like this. Alright? I'll deal with the son of a bitch." Spiderman patted his best friend on the shoulder, one firm squeeze of reassurance.

Scott needed a whole lot more than one firm squeeze of reassurance. He in fact, needed a cuppa of something warm, two blankets, a Game of Thrones binge-watch and a Stilinski family bear hug.

Or maybe all he truly needed was his girlfriend back.

"You go downstairs and shut down the main frame. Can you do that? I want you to destroy all of the machines they used to create these monsters."

Scott nodded, he didn't look at all like he needed any convincing. "Yeah. Destroying stuff sounds like just what I need to do right now." He darted off and Spiderman joined Derek in his attack on Peter.

Most of Peter's subordinates were down now. Isaac and Malia had taken care of them, Allison had also defeated quite a few before they took her out. Spiderman figured Stern was still lying pathetically on the floor downstairs.

Finally, finally they had Peter on his knees. Derek tied him up and Spiderman held a blade to his throat. "You're going to ask all your little friends to stand down immediately, you're going to call whoever's left raising terror in the streets to visit your office urgently for an important meeting,"

"I'm not walking my people right into a trap," Peter laughed. "And you're not going to kill me. So how exactly do you think you've got the upper hand, even if you've bested me in battle?"

"There's worse things than death," Spiderman said, with a sardonic grin.

"Face it, Peter. It's game over. Your great big plan of evil failed. You've been defeated." Spiderman spat. "Maybe," he said. "I'm just glad if I'm going down, I took one of your comrades with me." He said, laughing suddenly, maniacally.

Lydia perked up at the sound of that, she strode over and kicked him in the face with her stilettos still on. It left an abhorrent mark and a cut on his lower lip.

"You're going to hell for what you did." Lydia said, venom lacing her voice, tears had completely washed the make-up from her face. Her hair had come undone. She was bleeding in places and the ridiculous outfit she'd wore was crumpled. She still looked beautiful.

"You're done for, uncle," Derek snapped. "Do as you're told before we beat you into it."

"You'll never find them all. They'll go into hiding once they find out I've been compromised." Peter said smoothly.

"Maybe it'll take time, but we'll find every single one of your people, send them right back to jail where they belong and make sure they're never heard from again for as long as they live. You see, after the host is killed off, the rest of the virus doesn't stand much of a chance."

"Well, that's just it, isn't it? I'm not going to be killed off. I'll still be lurking in the shadows, and I will recoup and I will -"

Derek clocked him in the jaw so hard Spiderman wondered if he'd knocked his teeth out.

"Shut up, uncle," he muttered, disdainfully.

"Let him go, or the girl dies," everyone whirled around; astounded momentarily.

At first, Spiderman couldn't place the girl who suddenly held Lydia captive, even though she looked phenomenally familiar. Eventually, his memory unclouded. _Natalia_ , Stern's minion; she'd aided him in holding them captive, she'd been a part of the ambush at the gas station and now, she stood with her arm around Lydia's neck in a chokehold.

Peter began to laugh. "You're a bit late," _the bastard had been anticipating this._

Spiderman wasn't quite sure how Natalia had gotten here, or how she'd escaped Isaac and Malia, but she was here now, and she looked resolute; with a fanatic twinkle in her eye that rivaled Peter's own,

Derek raised both his hands up in surrender, Spiderman took a step forward. "Let's not do anything stupid here, leave her alone,"

"Sure, okay," Natalia scoffed; her eyes stormy and hell bent.

Lydia looked rather disillusioned like she wasn't even trying to free herself, her eyes were rimmed with red and her lips were parted as if in thought. Blood matted her forehead. She didn't seem to care, or notice; or feel the pain. Lydia was still in some kind of shock, in some kind of thrall. She was still seeing Allison's dead body behind closed eyes. Stiles just knew.

Spiderman took another cautious step forward. Electricity sparked at Natalia's fingertips; blue and winter silver. "One touch," she said, with a smile like a ghost. "And she goes out like a light bulb."

Peter was already getting on his feet, he dusted his suit and then clocked Derek in the face. "A tit for a tat," he muttered, in a sing-song voice, and then began to turn. Spiderman stood frozen in his place.

He could attack Natalia, but then she'd hurt Lydia, if he attacked Peter, she'd hurt Lydia. Chances were, she was very demented and would hurt Lydia even if he complied.

He was stuck.

Spiders didn't enjoy being stuck in webs of their own making.

Isaac was down, convulsing on the ground due to whatever Natalia had done to him, Malia's eyes were red with tears, she was trying to take his pain.

Scott had returned, but he was an utter mess, still staring at Allison's limp body like he couldn't get his eyes off of her. Lydia was now looking at Stiles, eyes wide and pleading. Her eyes said, _it's okay, let me go. Just save the city_. _That's what important_. He already knew what his own eyes were saying: _no way_.

"Really, it's _that_ easy?" Natalia purred. "The whole city, hell, maybe even the whole damned world just for the life of one little Barbie doll?" the bitch laughed and it made his spine shudder. "You're not much of a hero if you don't endorse all that personal sacrifice crap. Even Jesus paid a price, sweetheart, all martyrs do."

"Maybe I'm not a hero, then," Spiderman said, just to keep her talking. "Maybe I'm just trying to do what's right."

"One life to save a thousand, a million. Is that _right?"_

"I don't think Gandhi would approve," Natalia scoffed with a demented chortle, when he didn't respond.

Seconds passed in frozen strain and then suddenly; he felt sharp teeth against his back, ripping into the cloth of his red suit and meeting with skin. He yelped in anguish, Peter lashed onto him, straddling him and grabbing his arms and compromising his limbs. "Let's see how strong you are now, Spiderman,"

Scott had launched himself at Natalia, but not before Lydia had been tazered by her electric fingers. Spiderman headbutted Peter and kicked at him, forcing all his body weight onto his adversary, but Peter was strong; really strong, and his teeth impacted like knives. It was insane, trying to shove a werewolf off of him. He was pretty sure he'd crushed a couple of his ribs.

Just when Peter went for the fatal blow, striking a flying claw towards his windpipe, he grabbed his hand mid-flight, digging his finger nails deep into the werewolf's skin, Peter bellowed and Spiderman kicked him out from underneath him, he collapsed to the ground, his head hitting the linoleum tiles with a sickening crack. Spiderman leapt to his feet, even though his entire body felt like it had been through a paper shredder, and his chest burnt like he'd been sipping on arsenic, and he was pretty sure he could taste the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth.

He kicked at Peter, once, twice, thrice out of pure spite and vengeance, his feet burned. This man was built like a stone wall.

Natalia had the upper hand on Scott, so Malia leapt in to aid him, all Natalia had to do was raise both her arms sideways to send them both hurtling into opposite walls of the room. And just then, when Spiderman was going to leap in to help, an ear-splitting scream escaped from Lydia's mouth.

Everyone's hands flew to shield their ears. Her voice rumbled inside his own chest. It made his veins dance and his blood curdle. The whole building began to rumble; furniture slid sideways as if an earthquake had hit, files flew out of cupboards, the ceiling cracked like an ice cap. It was going to come crashing down on them; the whole god damn building.

Nobody could stop Lydia; or her deadly voice. Spiderman tried to move, tried to reach her, but he could barely compel his feet to budge; at least, not until Peter's fancy office desk almost knocked him over. Then, the whole building fell apart, crumbling like cookies, like it was weaved by wet sinew instead of thick cement. The ceiling caved in on them and then he felt something crush his legs and then; nothingness. Just black. Everything was black.

xxxxx

His eyes opened to the late evening sky; a string of helicopters were swarming the purple-orange firmament like migrating birds, his left ear was still ringing, from his right; he heard the distant echoes of wailing police sirens.

For the first couple of seconds, he felt as if he were waking in a dream and not in real life. Nothing made sense. What was this and where was he? Slowly, his head cleared and he remembered. Fear built up in his throat like quicksand. His heart pounded in his chest. His chest; it felt like a screening of a horror show was going on between his ribs, his spine felt all wrong; bent in a grotesque way, his stomach was doing back-flips and he couldn't... he couldn't feel his feet. He began to cough. Dust was everywhere. As if it was raining dust.

He tilted his neck a little, and realized that he was lying in debris; in an ocean of debris. There was rubble everywhere; maybe some even in his mouth. "Hey," he followed this new voice. Malia's familiar, animalistic brown eyes met his own. Her face was bleeding, and so were her hands, but she still looked like she was in better shape than he was. She touched a warm palm to his cheek. "Stiles," she said. "Stiles. Can you hear me?"

His ears felt hot. Were they bleeding too?

"Yeah," he said, wincing; it hurt to even breathe at this point.

Malia breathed a sigh of relief. "Lydia; she screamed and the whole building collapsed on us,"

 _Lydia... Lydia, Lydia!_

Fear enveloped him, bile began to rise in his throat. "Lydia!" he said, loudly. "Where's Lydia?! Is she okay? Is she hurt!?"

"Shh," she said, "calm down."

"I can't calm down. I need to know if she's -"

"First let's see if we can get you on your feet," Malia said. "Where - Where are the others? Scott? Isaac? Derek? Oh, my, god. Allison -"

Malia shushed him again. He complied as she wrapped an arm around his torso and helped him up. He stood up, and then stumbled, if it wasn't for Malia's grip, he would've hit the floor splat on his face. He assessed his surroundings once more. Men in black uniforms... a SWAT team had finally gained access to the city, they were arresting Stern's people who'd survived the fall; a bracelet of these men were crouched around someone...

Carefully, slowly, Spiderman pushed himself off of Malia and attempted to stand on his own. He had to make sure his friends were okay. And if Peter got away...

As he walked forward, he caught sight of Natalia, but she looked very dead; a long oval pole had pierced her chest and her neck was tilted at an unfavorable angle; her face was pallid.

"Peter was knocked unconscious; I stuck a couple of Allison's paralyzing arrows in him and called for backup. They're arresting him right now," Malia explained.

"Isaac's okay, he's hurt, but the ambulance is on their way along with Melissa and your dad. Derek disappeared, but I saw him take off... to god knows where, but at least we know he's alive. Scott's... grief ridden, but he's already healing from his injuries. Stiles; Lydia -" he cut her off. It was the look etched on her face that gave it away; sorrow, sympathy, misery.

"No," and suddenly, he couldn't feel any of his own pain at all. At least, not the physical pain.

He pushed past Malia, past the SWAT team surrounding her like kids sat around a bonfire.

"Move, move!" he said, thankfully; his mask was still on. The NYPD respected Spiderman, and made way for him. The commander called all the men away.

"We've got a possible code 203. All units follow up. We've got a possible code 203 and a suspect in custody."

"Lydia had shielded Allison's body with her own. They took Allison's body. They'll be calling her father shortly. Reinforcements have finally been let in, the air spaces are clear. Most of Peter's squad is down," Malia explained; she went on talking but Spiderman drowned her out.

He was staring at Lydia's limp body.

"No," he said, tears prickling his eyelids. "No. No. No. This is what... what I'd dreamt. No..."

Someone put a hand on his shoulder, he was surprised to look up and see Scott. "We're not going to let her die, come on. Grab her. We're getting her to Deaton's."

For a moment, Spiderman just stared at his best friend, grief clouding all of his senses, but then he nodded slowly and scooped her up into his arms. They raced towards the jeep.

He would save her life. She would be okay. She would be okay.

xxxxx

Spiderman changed into normal Stiles wear in the backseat of the car and then spent the rest of the ride cradling Lydia against his chest. She was breathing. She was still breathing.

He pressed a finger to her neck. Her pulse was slowing down rapidly.

"We've gotta hurry up!" Stiles yelled.

They slammed into Deaton's place.

"Doc, we need some help!" Scott said.

Deaton's eyes widened at the sight as Stiles, with Scott's help mounted Lydia onto the operating table. Lydia's entire body was beginning to convulse.

"Doc, I think you gotta do something!" Stiles' voice was frantic, his heart was a gorilla pounding against his swollen ribcage. "I will," he said, sifting through his cabinets for something.

"But right now, I need you to keep her still."

"Shh," Stiles' said, pressing a hand to her forehead and another to her wrist. "Steady, steady. She's burning up!"

He looked up at the doctor, he was holding a syringe longer than Stiles' middle finger. "Whoa, what the hell is that?"

"Mistletoe."

"Mistletoe? She's dying!"

"Stiles, help," Scott bellowed, he couldn't hold her down on his own.

Stiles nodded vigorously and pressed her down.

"You know, you yourself look like you need severe medical attention." Deaton said, this was to Stiles. "I don't care! We have to save her first."

Deaton nodded and pressed the syringe into her neck. She went still; deadly still.

Stiles was panting, he was pretty sure he couldn't feel his own body anymore. He was merely an onlooker, an entity, hell bent on saving the life of the girl he loved.

Then, suddenly, as if animated by some mystic force, Lydia pushed herself up and let out yet another scream. It shattered every window in the room, Stiles' leapt over her, shielding her body with his own. His left ear was split by something. More hotness.

When he pushed himself off, Lydia wasn't breathing anymore.

His entire world was seconds from crumbling into darkness, into nothingness.

Every nerve in Stiles' body was standing on end.

"Lydia," he said, softly, dusting bits of glass off her eyes and cheeks. He pushed some of her hair out of the way. Her skin was going cold. "Lydia," he repeated. "Lydia, come on."

She wouldn't stir.

He ran his hands all over her face, pushed her blood-soaked hair back. There were bombs erupting inside his gut. This was not happening. This was not real. He wasn't here. This was not happening.

"No, no, no, no, no. Come on, Lydia. Wake up."

"Come on."

"Lydia, open your eyes. Come on. Come on."

He parted her lips with his fingers and leaned in, opening his mouth over hers, breathing into her. He would give her his air. She would breathe. She would breathe again.

He took a deep breath, let the oxygen fill up his lungs, and breathed out into her mouth. He did it again, and again, and again. Nothing.

He pushed himself back, the tears were frozen in his eyes. Terror like nothing he'd ever felt before encrusted his heart.

"Wake up, Lydia. Can you hear me? Come on."

He was aware how manic he sounded; how desperate.

He was aware both Scott and Deaton had already given up.

He would not give up.

"Lydia. Open your eyes. Come on. Come on."

He was choking on his own breaths. His chest was heaving, his semblance was tumbling.

"Come on, Lydia. Listen to me, Lydia."

"Hey, show me your eyes. Okay? Lydia. You have to open your eyes."

Momentarily; his heart stopped.

Her eyes fluttered open and she drew in a breath.

His entire world rearranged itself.

His heart began to beat again.

Lydia moaned, she looked to be in a bit of pain, but she was breathing again, she was breathing. Scott let out a breath of his own, breaking into a smile despite himself. Deaton looked like he'd just witnessed a miracle, eyes wide as he ran his hands over his head.

"You okay?" Stiles' breathed.

Lydia nodded, her eyes watering, her lips tight; she was looking at him as if she'd been reborn, she was looking at him like a new sun. "You're okay," he let out another breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He entangled his fingers with her sweaty, quivering ones. She broke into the sort of smile that was brought forth only by the sheer recognition that one was _alive_.

"Want to try and sit up?"

Lydia nodded again.

Stiles helped her up and Lydia tilted her head at him. "Allison... she?"

His smile dropped.

"You saved her," he said. "Her... Her body could've been crushed but you shielded her."

Scott nodded, his expression falling too, but he looked gratefully at Lydia. "She can… She can have a proper burial now."

Lydia nodded, but there were tears spilling down her cheeks.

Stiles held her warm, alive face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. He could taste the saltwater between them; of her tears and his own. When their lips parted, he still held her to him, his forehead pressed against hers. They both closed their eyes and just held the position there, listening to the sound of the other's breathing; mad with relief because they were here now and despite everything they'd made it out alive and _they were going to be okay._

When he finally had the courage to pry himself away from her, even though there was a part of him that never wanted to, he helped Lydia off of the table.

"You're hurt," Lydia pointed out, concern burning in her eyes.

Stiles looked down at his beat-up body.

The pain returned but it hurt a whole lot less.

 _They were going to be okay._

There hadn't been one hero today, he realized, there had been several. Spiderman would've never succeeded if it wasn't for Isaac and Malia's quick thinking, or Derek's ruthless bravery in the face of mortal anguish, or Allison's warrior ways, or Scott's mad loyalty, or a banshee's saving grace of a scream.

Today, it wasn't just Spiderman who'd saved the city, it was his friends, his comrades, these lovely, crazy people who wouldn't get the love and the tabloids and their names scrawled into the legends like Spiderman would. He didn't care if the city wouldn't remember or realize. He would. He would never forget.

And he was ever-grateful.

* * *

 _outro:_

 _Oh they say people come_

 _They say people go_  
 _This particular diamond was extra special_  
 _And though you might be gone_  
 _And the world may not know_  
 _Still I see you celestial_

 _Like a lion you ran_  
 _A goddess you rolled_  
 _Like an eagle you circled_  
 _In perfect purple_

 _So how come things move on_  
 _How come cars don't slow_  
 _When it feels like the end of my world?_  
 _When I should but I can't let you go?_

 _But when I'm cold, cold_  
 _When I'm cold, cold_  
 _There's a light that you give me_  
 _When I'm in shadow_  
 _There's a feeling within me, an everglow._

* * *

 **P.S There are a couple chapters to go, so the story's not over quite yet. :)**


	35. Dreams of Flying (Happy Ending Edition)

**A/N: Okay guys. This is the very LAST chapter of the story, so please, please don't hesitate to leave me a long, nice review. It would really mean a lot to me. And thank you so much to all of you who constantly reviewed and supported both me and my writing and who took the time out of your day to read my goofy story. This story and these characters truly mean a lot to me, and I'm so happy that we made it to the end, there were a lot of times that I wasn't sure we would get here but look- here we are now!**

 **I have been requested for a sequel, but I think this is where the story ends. I don't think it really needs a sequel, but do keep checking in from time to time, I may have another story up for you guys soon. No promises though.**

 **If you would like to keep on track with me or contact me further, don't hesitate to pop me a message on Tumblr, my username is winterblues, also, I'd really appreciate it if you guys checked out my writing/poetry blog on Tumblr called jupiterreed, I post a lot of my writing on their, including excerpts from original novels I'm working on, etc. So yeah.**

 **Anyway, I guess that's all I have to say! Goodbye, and thank you! :)**

* * *

 _Maybe one day,_  
 _when I've suffered,_  
 _tired and twisted,_  
 _I'll call her,_  
 _and we'll drive, into the sunset._

 _I wanna touch the northern lights,_  
 _we could leave the world behind,_  
 _I wanna know what it's like,_  
 _to walk away from this life._

* * *

Lydia

She traced his scars that night.

They were lying down in her bedroom naked, the wind outside made the curtains sway like ghosts, cylindrical candles filled the room since the electricity hadn't returned yet. It smelt like vanilla and sandalwood and candle wax.

Stiles slept with his back to her, and she couldn't help but trace the length of his spine, with fingers light as feather quills. He shivered slightly beneath her touch. There were dark blue bruises adorning the length of his spine, Lydia could picture an ancient world map of lost continents across his skin in the slumbering darkness.

"Lydia," Stiles said, turning towards her, eyelashes fluttering like tides. "I'm so incredibly sorry about Allison. I - she... You know if there was anything that I could do..." his voice trailed off.

"Shh," she said. "It's just a dream."

"Lydia," his expression had changed. He looked... _concerned_.

"What?" she muttered bitterly, turning away and yanking her bra from underneath her pillow to pull it on, her cheeks reddening in the process.

"It's not hitting you like it should," he said.

"You look like a rotten fruit," Lydia commented numbly, gesturing to his battered torso.

"Wow, thanks," Stiles replied, but he didn't sound very offended.

"Lydia," he repeated, propping his head up on his elbow and pulling her towards him.

When she didn't respond, he wrapped one arm, thick as a snake, around her waist and pushed his chin into her shoulder, his breaths tickled her skin and hair. His chest pressed against her back made her stomach shudder. She would never get used to being raw and aching and whole with Stiles Stilinski.

"Shh," she echoed. "Can we just have this moment?"

"We can have a thousand," Stiles promised. "The world isn't out to get us anymore."

"That's a lie," Lydia replied, huffing.

"And so is whatever you're telling yourself to stay this strong. It's brave and admirable how strong you've been through it all. It's beautiful, even, but I'm worried sick, Lyd. I mean, your best friend -"

"Just died," Lydia said calmly, and then her heart began to beat like a bullet train, and then she felt like she was breathing toxic gas and her chest was aching awfully.

Lydia abruptly shot up, her chest heaving, eyes wide.

"My best friend just died!" she exclaimed, louder now. "What do you want me to _do?_ Cry my soul out? Break my fist against a wall? Scream to the sky until someone returns her to me?"

"Mourning is... healthy, it's _necessary_. We need to cope with these things. Trust me, I should know. I'm practically an expert now. I could literally teach a crash course,"

"I've been trying not to think about it because thinking about it makes me want to _die_ ,"

Stiles sighed. "I'm sorry,"

"She _died saving me,"_

"It wasn't your fault."

"But it _hurts_ ,"

"I know," Stiles said, his grip around her tightening as she felt tears spring to her eyes like pointed icicles. "I know."

"My best friend just died my best friend just died my _best friend_ just -" she wasn't speaking anymore, just gasping. Stiles wrapped his arms around Lydia and pulled her down with him, just holding her and whispering reassuringly. _"It's okay, Lydia. It's okay. You're going to be okay. I'm here, I'm here, I'm here. Everything will be okay. I'm here. I love you. I love you."_

Lydia was shaking in his arms and sobbing loudly and horribly into his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair and his hands down her back, attempting to soothe her.

She just heaved and said nothing; her dream dead, holding onto Stiles' so tightly it was going to leave marks.

Neither of them fell asleep after that. They just lied there awake, sharing body heat, aching for some solace, some safety, some kind of warmth in the other's existence.

She would never _recover_.

She would _never_ recover.

Stiles

Lydia was staring straight ahead, eyes puffy and red; still starry with tears.

It was a pleasant evening, beautiful, even. The sky was orange, like someone dropped a bucket of flames that spilled rampant across the clouds. The road was slightly damp from a recent drizzle, everything was tinged gold, including the jeep's dashboard and the tips of her hair. The beauty of the day made Stiles mad. Surely the world wasn't allowed to paint natural portraits on such an awful day. Surely the gods had _some_ sympathy.

Today had been the day of Allison's funeral.

Stiles was driving them back home, Scott hadn't even shown up, he was hurting too much for that. Stiles wondered if Lydia was mad at him, mad at him for not attending her best friend's funeral. Stiles himself didn't know what to feel. His mouth still tasted like sawdust.

The events of the day they'd lost her played a hundred times over in his head...

He still couldn't help but feel like it was somehow his fault.

He took a deep breath and fished in his pocket for a mint, an Adderall pill, something - _anything_. The only thing he found was a half-melted orange skittle. He wasn't quite sure what it was doing in his pocket, it might have even gone through the washing machine. He put it in his mouth regardless.

"How do you like orange candy? _Nobody_ likes orange candy. It's gross," Lydia said, all of a sudden.

Stiles' shrugged. "I don't think it's so bad,"

"It's horrible," Lydia looked like she was going to cry again. Stiles sensed that it wasn't the candy that she was talking about. She didn't cry, though, surprisingly.

She was exceptionally strong and it made him insane how strong she was. She didn't break down easily. She held steel in her gut. Sometimes he thought she ought to have been born with lion skin. Maybe it wasn't healthy, maybe he thought she _should_ break down.

And yet he was incredibly proud of her. Proud of her for being able to carry herself through every whirlwind that derailed her.

Looking at her now in her black dress, he thought _angel_ once again. This time, however, he pictured an avenging angel of death. Poignantly beautiful, like poetry.

"It's okay to allow yourself to be sad, you know," he told her, quietly.

"I'm not talking about it," she said, calmly but through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to sit here and weep and tell you about how I wish I could go back in time and change things or about how much I miss her or about how there's this ginormous, Allison-shaped hole in my life now because all of that is futile. It's _futile_ , alright?"

"You're right," Stiles said. "We can just seethe in silence."

Lydia didn't say anything, so he turned up the radio, and Lydia turned it up loud, loud, louder.

Until it was earsplitting enough to drown out their misery.

When he pulled into her driveway, she didn't move. She simply sat there. He turned off the radio and she leaned into him, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her face into his chest. She didn't cry. He didn't cry.

They simply sat there like that for a long time, breathing into each other, letting all that unspoken pain bleed through the gaps in between them.

"Good night, Stiles." She said, when she finally let go.

His breath still tasted like that sour, orange skittle.

xxxxx

He drove to Scott's immediately after he'd dropped Lydia.

Scott hadn't even showed up to the funeral, he claimed he would wolf out and claw everyone's faces off, but Stiles knew the truth. It would hurt too much. He wouldn't be able to keep himself from breaking into a glob of tears, and he didn't want to disrupt the serenity of her funeral, he wanted her to have the rightful burial she deserved. He was just afraid he would uproot things as tornadoes often do.

Stiles was worried. He was worried about his best friend, he was worried about the one girl whose heart had somehow burrowed into his. Most of all, he was worried he'd killed Allison Argent.

"Shut up, Stilinski," Lydia had said. "You don't get to take the blame for this."

"I -"

"I sensed it as soon as she sprinted to save me. I even sensed a familiar ghost in my dreams. If anyone's to be accused, it's me,"

The truth was, an invisible Allison was seated next to him, and she was rolling her eyes. _Stop being self-righteous pricks, not everything is about you or because of you_. He heard her say, in his mind _. I'm at peace with all this. Trust me._

He was being foolish, hallucinating a dead girl to make him feel better about himself.

 _Pathetic._

He growled, still stuck in Scott's driveway, banging at the steering wheel, putting all of the pain into his fist, regenerating it and punching it over and over again.

He couldn't help but go back to that day, try in think up ways to bring her back to them. _If I'd only done this and if she'd only gone that way or if the sun hadn't risen or if Peter hadn't been evil._ It was pointless and awful and he knew it.

No matter how many cool superpowers Spiderman had acquired, he would never be able to bring the dead back to life. That was the one thing that was out of his hands. Death was the one thing he would never be able to control, and it sucked and sucked and sucked.

It was his greatest phobia painted in bright neon and dangling in front of his eyes like some kind of grotesque puppet. In all the fretting over losing Lydia, he'd lost someone else.

Someone who happened to mean a lot to two of the most important people in his life.

Stiles sighed and exited his jeep, twisting the keys around his finger.

There was one thing that everyone who knew Scott McCall could agree on, and it was that when he got depressed; the whole world got depressed along with him. Stiles thought that Scott was the sort of person that could be standing in the midst of a whirlwind or being eaten alive by a ravenous bear and would still have the guts to assure you that "it's going to be okay," and you would believe him just because the words came out of his mouth, even if the odds were impossible, even if the factual reality was right in front of your very eyes.

And if he were to just give in and confirm that the bear was going to kill you, slumping into death's shoes, then there was no hope left in the universe.

As Stiles offered Mrs. McCall an empathetic smile and headed upstairs to Scott's bedroom, he could've sworn that the world had ended, at least that was what the look on his face implied.

Scott was just lying there limply on his bed, looking like he was having some sort of out-of-body experience and staring blindly at the ceiling all disillusioned and forlorn. He was in a pair of track pants he'd been wearing for five days straight now, like he hadn't bothered to change after showering, if he had even showered, that was.

His dark hair was a sight almost as muddled as the bits of broken glass in his sunburned eyes.

"Scott," he figured he'd have to announce his entrance, since he wasn't sure if he'd even noticed him come in. When he didn't respond, Stiles sighed, rolling his eyes and nudging his foot.

"Scott," he repeated.

"Yeah," he responded, voice heatless. "Is everything okay, Stiles?" he asked, sitting up to face him, even though Stiles could tell that the faux politeness in his voice was illusive to what he was actually feeling inside.

Mentally, the wolf boy was in another galaxy.

Stiles surveyed his room; it didn't look like it belonged to a werewolf at all. It was plain and unimpressive, unlike anything in Scott's real life. He wondered if he kept it ordinary on purpose, to remain tethered to the regular teenage boy he once was. There were ghosts in the room, of all of Scott's past lives. Stiles didn't know what to make of that. No matter how much they all yearned for their old lives, they could never go back to the start. Normality was a luxury to him and his friends. The sky had darkened considerably outside, and it was beginning to look like it was going to drizzle.

New York's eccentric weather, for once, felt sad and droopy. Just like the boy in front of him.

Stiles felt his heart go out to his best friend.

"That's what I wanted to ask you," he confessed. "You look like someone kicked your puppy."

"I thought I was the puppy?" Scott looked offended.

Stiles smiled. "You can be the puppy if you want."

This was the first even remotely light-hearted thing he'd uttered in days. It gave Stiles hope, that they could move on from this, because that was what Allison would've wanted.

"I know we won," Scott said, sighing and running a hand through his hair. "It still feels like we lost."

"We did lose," Stiles agreed. "I lost a part of myself, more importantly, we lost a comrade. If there was anything I could've done -"

"There wasn't," Scott sounded resolute in his conclusion.

"There _should've_ been," Stiles said, moving in on the bed and resting his head where Scott rested his feet. He felt his jaw clench as he crossed his fingers over his stomach, dribbling them subconsciously.

"I'm Spiderman. I'm supposed to protect people. I'm supposed to keep nightmares like this from happening, and I guess I didn't do my job - not well enough, anyway."

"Nah," Scott said, voice still lifeless. "You may have a god complex going on, but you're _not_ god, Spidey. It was out of your control."

"Still," Stiles said. "I'm sorry."

He felt his stomach heave. "I'm so, so sorry. And I know it doesn't mean anything, but I'm sorry anyway. This was exactly what I was afraid of. This was exactly what I'd been hoping to avoid. I had a feeling something would happen to someone if you guys kept on this toxic path. _My_ toxic path."

"But that's the thing," Scott said, a smile sneaking its way up his face; all watery and nostalgic. "Allison was born for something wild as this. She was always a warrior, it was literally in her blood. She was a huntress - again, _literally_. Even if we hadn't been in her life, things would've probably gone down similarly because it was what she was sure she was destined for. She told me, she wanted to go down in a blaze of glory, doing something noble, saving the world; or at least, a fraction of it. She did. She got her wish, even if it feels like a curse. She saved so many lives. You wouldn't have been able to pull off jack squat without her."

Stiles couldn't help but agree. "Allison saved my life. She saved all of our lives."

Scott was still smiley, his eyes were elsewhere, and something told him, so was his heart.

"Do you know what was scrawled on Allison's epitaph?" Stiles said.

"I do," Scott replied, even though he hadn't been there. " _Nous protégeons_ ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes."

It was quite a crisp French accent for somebody who'd failed French twice in a row.

"I'd been trying to figure out what it means," Stiles admitted.

"We protect those who cannot protect themselves." Scott grinned.

"Appropriate," Stiles said, returning the smile.

"She's still saving me," Scott added, almost dreamily. "I see her at night when I go to sleep, and she's always there. In that catsuit I used to make fun of. With her eyes shining dynamites. So breathtakingly beautiful it doesn't seem real..." he cut himself off.

"It doesn't make it fair, of course."

Stiles had to agree, once again.

"The world's hardly fair."

"Do you think I'll be okay?" a question as innocent as if a five-year-old had asked it.

"I think Allison's going to kick your ass if you don't get your shit together." Stiles responded.

Scott was still smiling. "Well then, I better get my shit together."

Lydia

 **SIX MONTHS LATER**

"Will you marry me someday?" He asked, his lips grazing the skin of her collarbone, all soft and warm like an upwards stream.

"Someday..." Lydia replied, all dazed. Her mother's attic was bathed in sunlight, dust motes circled lazily above their heads, glinting like sentient diamonds. It smelt like old wood and Stiles' strangely musky cologne. Their fingers were intertwined, and so were their legs. She understood, all of a sudden, what it must feel like to be a cat and curl up into something. She stared disillusionedly at the tops of her toes, all pink as if they'd been blushing.

Her heart had left on a sailboat the night before. It was probably half-way across the ocean by now.

She didn't yearn to have it back.

"That stunt you pulled yesterday morning," she muttered, veiling the smile that was tickling her lips. "Was that all just an elaborate ruse to get me in bed with you?"

"I don't need an elaborate ruse to get you in bed with me," he said, with a grin that screamed of sardonic musings. Lydia looked to him and half of his face was bathed in light, he was a creature to behold, half-god and half-boy. His lashes flickered like flames. Lydia wanted to fall forever, as long as she crash-landed on Stiles' lips.

The morning before, she'd been walking across the street and the next thing she knew Spiderman had turned the Brooklyn bridge into his very own 3D greeting card; weaving 'I LOVE YOU' in big-lettered silver-lace gossamer. The civilians had gone mad, cheering and hooting and clicking pictures. Suddenly a red-blue blur was zipping across the sky and she was lifted up into the air.

"Seriously, Stilinski?" she groaned, wrapping her arms around him tight as life.

Her heart didn't even drop out of her mouth anymore, she'd gotten used to the rush, the salty air above the river, the warmth of his familiar body; like being embraced by the sun.

"Someone said she enjoyed big romantic gestures." He chuckled as they whipped through the air. Past tiny people and cars and streetlights. "Yeah, I meant more like flowers and chocolate or a moonlight picnic,"

"You're Lois Lane, Lyd. I'm Superman. We go big or we go home."

It'd been ostentatious, and crazy and wonderful.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she teased.

"Oh?" He leaned in to her, breath minty and cool. She closed her eyes as his lips brushed over hers and her hand caught in his hair. It was just a kiss but none of their kisses felt like just kisses.

Sometimes they felt like they would end the world, or start a new one.

When she opened her eyes again he was straddling her and her soul was leaving her body.

xxxxx

He was knocking on her window.

Lydia opened up. "You've got to stop sneaking up on me like a ghost," she chided.

"Come on," Spiderman said. "I'm a friendly ghost I promise."

He'd just returned from a routine patrol around town and was now hanging upside down from her window, he'd yanked his mask off so his hair stuck out all over the place, sort of like a gorilla. _A really adorable gorilla_ , Lydia smiled, Stiles leaned in and kissed her. Just like that. All upside down. Their noses brushing, lips sinking into the sinews of the others'.

"Come inside," she prescribed, once he pulled back. "I'm not entirely sure that what we're going to do next is possible upside-down."

Stiles broke into a suggestive smirk as he leaped in and shut the window behind him.

"I'm sure we could find a work-around,"

"Get your head out of the gutter, Magic Mike. I meant getting your _homework_ done. You may be Spiderman, but you're not going to be much of a student if you keep failing Math. You promised your dad, remember?"

"I remember," he replied droopily.

"But maybe after..."

Stiles burst into a grin that could've lit up a blacked out world.

She'd never seen a boy finish his Math homework that fast.

xxxxx

Malia and Isaac would come over sometimes and they would go out and get frozen yogurt, or drive to this lake over two hours away from the city and picnic there, talk about life and feed the ducks. Other times they'd go for movies, or to the club and attempt to be normal teenagers.

Isaac and Malia would constantly try and best one another, making everything into a competition, flirting with every bartender and trying to get them free drinks regardless of said bartenders age or sex. It surprisingly even worked sometimes. Lydia would dance; Stiles would just sort of hover by the bar and drink his woes away, or watch her, sometimes lovingly like an awestruck child, and other times darkly like a hawk.

Lydia was a little worried about Stiles, if she was being honest.

He still woke up from awful nightmares every other day, and the scars Void had left on him would never heal. Sometimes Lydia thought he tortured himself like this on purpose. He still had his outbursts. His moods would change almost recurrently, almost like he had adopted more personalities.

There was the loving, caring, dorky kid who she remembered, there was the heroic, almost blindly reckless person who would go out in a red mask whenever dusk fell, and then there was this more quiet, more contained, dark waning blue flame of a boy who would wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night or fight with her for no reason or crumble into her arms and cry for a good hour.

But he was healing. They all were.

Once a week they'd drive out into the city limits at night to watch the stars, and grab milkshakes from a highway rest stop on the way back. Sometimes they would just sit back at Stiles' house and play video games. Lydia always kicked everyone's ass at Mario Kart.

It became a ritualistic thing, a warm, familiar practice that kept them close together. It wasn't a forceful friendship, Lydia had found that she could not get rid of any of these people. Who knew near death experiences could be a bonding ritual?

And as the night roared, announcing its arrival, they would drop the facades and help Spiderman patrol the streets, take out a few bad guys and hand-deliver them to the police, other nights they would run up into bordering forests or mountaintops and howl at the moon. Quite literally.

Malia had asked Isaac out about a couple of months ago, she'd grabbed him by the collar and demanded a kiss. It was all very animalistic, apparently.

"Have you spoken to Scott lately?" Malia asked, licking bubblegum ice cream off of her lips.

The four of them were seated at a nineties themed ice cream parlor, equipped with roller-skating waiters and fluorescent lighting. The booth they were seated in was right next to the window. The evening flashed shades of aureate and red through it, all glinting silhouettes like the roads were covered in embers.

"He promised me he would show me how to rip jugulars out with my claws."

"I'm pretty sure he was kidding about that. Weren't you?" Stiles asked.

"What did we discuss about bringing up spontaneous murder during casual conversations, babe?" Isaac said, uncomfortable all of a sudden as he scratched the back of his neck.

"Don't freaking do it." Malia replied, as if she was repeating lines she'd rehearsed from a script.

Lydia had to stifle a laugh.

"Scott's coming to visit this weekend," Stiles said. "Another visit?" Isaac asked. "When's he coming back for good?"

"Soon," Stiles sounded a lot more resolute this time than he'd been while saying the exact same thing the past five months to no avail. That was a good sign, she supposed.

Silence fell for a few slow-moving moments. It was a soft, knowing silence. It fell every time they mutually thought about Allison.

Lydia's heart would always skip a beat and her mind would take off on a hot-air balloon.

Six months later and it still felt like a dream, or like something that happened to somebody else. Allison's absence was felt in every little corner of Lydia's bedroom where they'd had sleepovers when they were younger, down all the streets they'd rode down together, in Stiles' eyes reflected like punctured glass, and every time she looked up at the moon.

Next month was going to be Allison's birthday and Lydia wasn't ready. She wasn't ready to not celebrate that. Some days, she would still half expect to look up in class and see her best friend walk through in that easy and lightless way she always carried herself, like a ballerina on a stage. She still half expected to meet her eyes and flash her a knowing smirk, for Allison to smile back and sit down on the desk next to hers.

"What about Derek?" Isaac asked, Derek had previously been the leader of Isaac's pack, but Derek wanted to bestow that position upon Scott should he want it, once he'd recovered from Allison's death. Only, Lydia wasn't sure he would ever recover. On the surface, yes, probably eventually, but never truly inside.

Derek had been up in the mountains; he'd found a few other werewolf packs over there. He'd been with them for a few months now, he would drop by the city to check in on them every once and awhile, but he seemed to be enjoying himself there, if 'enjoying' was something Derek ever did, that was. Lydia could never tell with him. He told Stiles the experience he had with the elder wolves out there was healing and enriching, and that he was grateful he was finally spending some time with 'like-minded people instead of a bunch of snot-nosed teenagers'. So Lydia had to assume he was having a good time. She was happy for him, Derek Hale was a lonely person, and despite his cold exterior, she had a feeling the guy was a real softie.

"He said he's dropping by next week, he's finally moving out of his hobo cave and needs to transfer some of his stuff. I told him I'd help him move, he just growled at me." Stiles explained.

Isaac knitted his eyebrows together. "Yeah but was it a growl of approval, like so," he then proceeded to do his version of one of Derek's legendary growls, "or a growl of dismissal, like this?" he did a slightly different, more scornful version of the first growl.

Stiles shrugged. "Hell if I know, his painfully wide array of growls are pretty hard to comprehend."

"Oh well. At least the big bad wolf's doing alright." Isaac muttered, considering this.

"He has a shaman now," Malia said. "He told me he's helping him restore his werewolf abilities. I guess that's how much he hates being human. I can understand that, human beings are so distressing, you all reek of misery and anguish. Oh, also rot."

"Thanks," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

"You talk to Derek?" Lydia questioned, cocking an eyebrow in surprise.

"Every Thursday evening."

Everyone stared at Malia like she'd sprouted a second head; she merely popped a ice-cream dipped fry into her mouth and shrugged. " _What?_ We're buds."

"And on that terrifying note," Isaac began. "We should really get going. Right, honey? I have to go home and get ready, I'm meeting Malia's father today and if he's half as vicious as his daughter then I need to guarantee I've got life insurance, but we'll see you guys?"

"Yeah, sure," Lydia said, with a smile. "Wear a striped tie," Stiles suggested. "Mr. Tate holds a special place in his heard for striped ties."

"Thanks for the tip," Isaac replied, with a nervous grin. "Oh don't worry baby," Malia muttered to her boyfriend as they grabbed their coats. "He'll only skewer you if he's in a bad mood or if we've caught him right after a golf tournament, which I'm almost sixty-percent sure wasn't on his planner today."

As they left, Stiles frowned. "You know, I dated her for a whole year, and I still can't ever tell if she's joking." Lydia chuckled. "She's very literal indeed."

Stiles sighed then, staring down at his phone. "Still haven't heard from Scott, huh?"

"It's been a whole week," Stiles replied, miserably. "I'm beginning to worry."

Lydia was about to wrap him into a comforting embrace when Stiles' other phone rang; this was his Spidey Line. "Duty calls," he said tersely, then tossed a few bucks on the table, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and rushed out.

Lydia sighed as she watched him dart off, suddenly alone in the booth. Spiderman was still diligently cleaning out the remainder of Peter's super-evil-super-anomaly population. He wasn't going to rest until he got every single one of them, and Lydia knew that.

An idea dawned over her.

It hadn't occurred to her overnight, she'd been dreaming of Allison for weeks now. The transition, at this point, seemed natural, almost stupidly so.

Her best friend had lit a flame; Lydia didn't want to see it die out.

"Maybe the best way to tribute you, Allison, is to keep your legacy alive."

xxxxx

"You're getting good at this," Spiderman yelped as he dodged a flying knife aimed right at his head. "And you're losing your touch, old man," Lydia cooed as she leapt at the criminal on the left, wrapping one arm around his neck and kicking his shins in with her feet; the straddle of death. The criminal squeezed his eyes shut in mute pain. "Jesus," he muttered.

"Nope, _Jesus_ definitely won't be anywhere near where you're going," Lydia muttered, pushing back and aiming an arrow at his left leg. It hit the mark and the man collapsed to the ground with a sickening thud.

"A little help here?" Spiderman was surrounded by the criminal's cronies, three on his right and two on his left, as Spiderman poised to fight them off, Lydia elegantly nipped one arrow after the other, smooth as a cat, slick as a panther.

Allison's arrows themselves were lovely, brilliant silvery things. Chafed by moonlight and girlhood. They cut through the air like metal wasps, each one acquiring target. One by one, the man's cronies fell. It was like watching Jenga blocks go down.

Spiderman wrapped them all from head-to-toe in gossamer, all gift-wrapped for the NYPD.

Malia and Isaac appeared down the alley they'd come from just as The Banshee (now equipped with arrows!) and Spiderman were catching their breaths. "Run!" Malia screamed, wolf-blue eyes wild and electric. Isaac was only a little way's behind her, they were fleeing like they were trying to outrun a tsunami tide. "What is it?"

"A chihuahua," Isaac deadpanned. "It's a metahuman! It's a metahuman with a flame-thrower!"

"And she melts things with her touch!" Malia added, breathlessly.

"How doesn't she melt the flame-thrower?" Spiderman asked.

"She wears gloves, you dumbass!" Malia yelped.

Spiderman and Lydia shot each other a look. A silent agreement like "yup, we're screwed" and then took off running along with their friends.

"We can do this," Spiderman said.

"Can we?" Isaac wasn't so sure.

"We can do this." Spiderman repeated.

xxxxx

Battered, bruised, and one metahuman down, they realized that they had a dinner they had to get to.

Derek wasn't at his warehouse anymore, but it still made a great Batcave, or, Spidercave… or, whatever. They quickly showered, changed and bandaged themselves up. Isaac kept leaving bloody t-shirts all over the floor.

"Man, you've really gotta start cleaning up after yourself," Stiles said, groaning tiredly.

"Yeah, Lehay, nobody wants to pick up your bloodsoaked garments. It's gross and also like, the opposite of attractive," Lydia snapped.

"Right?" Malia agreed, floating out of the bathroom, hair still wet from a shower. "He's a total mongrel,"

" _Wolf_ ," Isaac corrected, yanking a clean t-shirt on. "And it's not like I can just take them to the drycleaners. I used to do that and they're starting to get really suspicious of me."

"It's true," Malia admitted. "Last week the girl who works there told me she thinks he's the Zodiac Killer. I told her that he's just a guy who really happens to love ketchup, so we're good. I mean I'm pretty sure she bought it."

Stiles' rolled his eyes. "Let's go. We're getting late."

As they piled into their separate vehicles, Stiles felt his stomach turn. Melissa and John Stilinski had been going out for a few months now behind their backs, going on dates on the down low until they were certain enough of their relationship to inform their sons. Stiles' was ecstatic about it of course, he'd always wanted for Melissa and his father to get involved with each other. She was after all, the closest thing Stiles had to a mother and Stiles and Scott had been brothers for as long as he could remember. It just seemed _right_. Most of all, he would have a family again, and his father would never have to be lonely again.

So to celebrate their engagement (Mr. Stilinski had proposed to Melissa a week ago, it was on a boat surrounded by candles after a satisfying dinner at one of the fancier restaurants on the Upper East Side) their parents were throwing a small dinner party and Stiles had been asked to invite his closest friends. Even Scott was coming. Stiles couldn't wait to see his best friend again.

Lydia ran a hand through his hair as he drove. "Don't distract me," he snapped. "Unless you want to end up in a ditch."

"Ha-ha," Lydia said, taking her hand away. "Stiles," she said then. "Are you nervous?"

"We literally just went up against a metahuman with a flame thrower. Why would I be nervous?"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "This is coming from the guy who cries every time he watches The Titanic and whose scared of the animatronics at Chuck E Cheese,"

"Talking, bipedal stuffed toys are frigging terrifying, okay? It's just not natural. I prefer my restaurants minus the creepy dudes in animal costumes just the way god intended. And The Titanic is a _beautiful_ movie, don't even get me started on that."

"It's okay to be nervous, Stilinski," Lydia said.

"Do you think Scott's doing better?" Stiles asked. "I'm mostly just worried about him."

"He'll be fine. He's strong, he'll make it through this."

"Yeah, yeah. You're right."

And he really hoped she was.

xxxxx

"Pass the lasagna, will you, honey?" Melissa McCall asked, smiling brightly at her would-be husband, on her ring finger, a two-carrot turquoise diamond beauty glinted warmly in the dining room light.

"Of course, ma cherie," sang Mr. Stilinski, in the sunniest of spirits.

"Dad, you're not even French," Stiles muttered, feigning disgust, even though he was finding it extremely hard to do so. As much as he wanted to play the role of the archetypal teenager repulsed by his parents' love, there were back flipping butterflies in his stomach and for the first time in a long time – for the first time since his mother had died, Stiles felt truly happy, the sort of happiness that was born out of watching someone you loved or cared about being happy.

There was this constant warmth like he was draped in bubble wrap; a warmth he'd almost forgotten existed.

Not to mention he finally felt like his family could be whole again, now that the huge gaping hole that the loss of Claudia had left was finally filling up.

He and Scott were going to be brothers, Lydia was by his side, it almost felt too good to be true. It almost felt like a fairytale. And as if she'd read his mind, Lydia turned to him and squeezed his arm, only gently. "You're not dreaming," she whispered.

"You have Spaghetti breath," he responded.

"Let yourself be happy. You deserve it, baby." Lydia muttered, before covertly taking his hand and placing a kiss soft as a primrose on the back of it, and between his knuckles. At this point, his stomach got warmer. He'd heard people talking about a happiness so profound that it brought tears to their eyes, but Stiles had never felt like that before, so he hadn't believed such a thing was possible, at least not for him anyway. Today, he didn't feel like he would be reduced to tears. Today, he felt as if he would actually _explode_ with bliss, with the knowledge that for once, that at least for now, things were going to be okay – better than okay. That for once, he needed to bite down the shadows that lingered constantly at the back of his throat and that he would not be afraid to let himself be happy.

That he would give himself this one moment of pure delight, and that it would feel like taking flight.

"So you guys won't believe this, but I went to visit Derek in the mountains and I caught him smiling and laughing and actually behaving human," Scott muttered.

"Derek Hale? I'm glad the kid's doing better. His whole family burnt down in a fire, you know. He's been through some pretty rough stuff."

At this point in the conversation, everyone was expecting Scott to make a morbid joke about how he too, had just gone through some pretty rough stuff. He didn't. Instead, he took a large bite of his pasta and got cheese all over his mouth.

"Real classy, Scott," Malia said.

"Is that really coming from you, hun? Last night I saw you devouring a bowl of oatmeal with your bare hands," Isaac replied.

"Coyote tendencies," Malia justified, as Scott said, "Wolf tendencies" at the same time.

Stiles glanced at his best friend from across the table. When Scott met his eyes, he offered him a big goofy grin. The lights almost reached his eyes this time. Solid improvement. The soul-searching had paid off, and so had whatever else he'd been doing to keep his mind off Allison.

Scott was helping Derek go across America in search of newly turned werewolves or rescuing werewolves who needed care, they would then bring them back to the base in the mountains and teach them the pack principals, the code, how humans are not Happy Meals and the likes. Their Mission Statement was _We Protect Those Who Cannot Protect Themselves._

"Okay, okay," Mr. Stilinski stood up, clinking his wine glass with a silver spoon.

"Don't do that too hard, sweetheart. You might break the glass," Melissa said, cringing slightly.

John put the spoon down, but held the wine glass up high. "I would like to make two toasts today. One, to my lovely fiancée, for being so patient with me, for standing by me and being my rock, for putting up with all of my awful jokes and for watching foreign horror movies that have dodgy subtitles with me. You are everything I've ever wanted in a partner. Two, to my son and his brave friends, you saved New York City, and whilst Spiderman may get all the credit for it, you were the real heroes. You too, Stiles. I am not sure I completely comprehend or even want to when it comes to your jobs and how you keep things up and running, but I do believe it isn't too far off from being a cop. You go out there and put your lives at risk for the greater good, and while as a parent that terrifies me, while as a parent I would rather have the world burn than watch my children suffer. As a citizen of New York and an admirer, I truly am in awe and we are very, very appreciative for all that you have done and all that you do and all that you will do in the future, even whatever may have gone unnoticed, even the lives you save in the harsh light of the moon around dingy alleyways. You kids have grown up so fast. I could truly not be more proud. I have faith in you and everything that you stand for and I know that your struggles and sacrifices will contribute to the history of the world more than you know. After losing Claudia to a terrible disease, I fell into the coarse arms of routine and depression, a ruthless cycle of nothingness. I never believed there would come a day like this, where I felt so complete again. I am so grateful to have you all as my family, and Claudia, I still miss you, I forever will, but I know you're smiling down at us from up wherever you are. I can feel it in my very soul. And of course, Allison Argent, who died a soldier's death, with integrity and finesse. So… Cheers! Cheers to family and the ones we've lost and the worlds we will conquer and this lasagna because boy does Melissa know how to cook a mean dish!"

Everyone raised their glasses and then clinked them together.

As the evening concluded, Scott was beaming, mouthing inside jokes to Stiles from across the dining table, Isaac and Malia were affectionately arguing about something, Melissa was running a hand through Stiles' hair while chatting with Lydia about feminism in literature and everything was right in the world.

The speech was long, and very typical to his emotive father, but he'd gotten through it without crying.

Stiles didn't think _he_ would get through it without crying.

It felt like Christmas.

Warmth and family and love burning in his chest in the best way possible.

xxxxx

"So where do we go from here, Stiles Stilinski?" Lydia asked, rather dreamily, eyes following the lucent pink haze of the setting sun.

"Arizona? We have to take the left pass," Stiles muttered, confused considering it was truly where they were going. Spring break had just begun and the first thing on Lydia's bucket list was to see the Grand Canyon.

"Allison's father used to take her to the Grand Canyon all the time. She told me stories about it, how the postcards don't even do justice to its raw beauty. I think she was in love with how limitless and immortal it felt to be standing there in the heart of the chafed Arizona desert, atop this gaping abyss, atop of the world. I want to see it; I want to feel like that. It was her home away from home." She'd said.

"You're my home away from home," Stiles' had mumbled dumbly, cheesily, doe-eyed and staring at her like she was the Grand Canyon herself, infinite and breathtaking.

"I meant metaphorically, doofus." Lydia said, in the present, still watching the sun as she put her feet up on the dashboard and brought her window down.

"I know," he said, with a small smile.

"Are you worried?" Lydia asked.

"About what?" he questioned, even though he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"That some big apocalyptic thing will happen because we've left New York for a bit? That we'll return to a city in flames?"

"Nah," he said, biting his lower lip as he watched the sun snuggle a little bit deeper into the kernel of the red-sandy hills. The desert in front of them stretched so far and wide, it was almost possible to imagine that it consisted the whole world. Of course, it was only a tiny fraction of the whole world. Stiles was suddenly in awe of space and time, of the laws of the universe, of this life he'd lived. This crazy, beautiful, terrifying and unforgettable life he'd lived. "I'm sure our friends are holding the fort down just fine."

"Really?" Lydia sounded skeptical.

"Are you kidding me? Isaac and Malia are a hot mess. They'll probably be too busy arguing about something pointless or making out like they live in the stone ages to notice the world caving in on itself around them. _Of course_ I'm worried, but I'm trying not to be."

Lydia smiled and ran a hand through his hair, distracting him again. "You _really_ want me to steer off the road, don't you?" he groaned.

"Even Spiderman has to retire someday. Don't you want to grow old with me?"

" _Will_ we grow old, Lyd?" there was a bottomless fear laced in his words. "I put you up to this whole vigilante thing –"

"Okay, hot shot. I wanted to take up Allison's mantle for _Allison_ , to keep her legacy alive. Not for you. Not for anyone else. I wanted to tribute my best friend. I finally… I finally feel free, liberated, happy, even. Ever since I put on that mask, I've felt like she's smiling down at me." Lydia said, her eyes meteors away.

Stiles' nodded. "I don't doubt that," he said. "Not one bit."

"But let's get back to that growing old together thing you were talking about," he said, with a suggestive smirk.

"I'm not making any promises," Lydia said, but her smile, lighter than a Sunday afternoon, hinted at something else.

"Hey I've got an idea," Stiles said. "Do you want to halt at some convenience store parking lot and have sex in the back seat and then go grab a couple of burgers and cheap beer?"

Lydia burst into laughter. It melted into his chest like honey.

Five minutes passed. They fell into a soft, comfortable quiet after that. One that was truly felt rather than merely experienced. Lydia continued to stare out the window, afraid for what was to come next, for it would mean, and excited at the same time. The future was a frightening place to venture to, but not so much when she had the people she loved every step of the way. Bad guys would come and go. Peter still felt like a lingering threat, lurking in the shadows like the slime that he was, incarcerated, but not permanently.

And maybe nothing was permanent. Maybe she and Stiles would have a good run and then go on to marrying other people. Maybe they really would grow old together. Sometimes when she looked at him, her skin felt like it was on fire. And that was something she wanted to feel, even when they were 82 years old and barely breathing.

"If we do grow old together, will you still dance with me in the living room in our pajamas at 3 am in the morning like we do now?"

"You bet," Stiles grinned. "You know I'm taking my Star Wars jammies to the grave, right?"

Lydia chuckled.

Yeah, she definitely hoped for the latter.

As the sun left its last imprints on the sky, rose-gold and sangria tinges, and a faint half-moon appeared in the lingering distance, Lydia stretched, running her hand through the open window, the wind a force like a tide, pulling her towards a new horizon, a wondrously horrifyingly gorgeous horizon. Her fingers like curtains caught in a squall. The wind cool and numbing, but in the best way.

Her other hand rested at her side, Stiles put his free hand over hers, running his thumbs against her baby soft skin. He smiled, and for the first time, it felt like floating, like a miracle, like anything could happen right now.

They kept driving.

Anything could happen right now.

The sky could turn green and fall on their heads, winged horses could emerge from the clouds, stars could perform for them, flittering about them like a legion of fireflies.

But life wasn't like that. Life wasn't a movie. Everything wasn't perfect, but sometimes, if you're really lucky and really patient and truly hopeful, you score a perfect moment or two.

A perfect moment like driving off into the sunset quite literally, even if the beauty and faultlessness of it felt fleeting. A perfect moment like spending the night on your best friend's kitchen floor, cutting out interesting headlines from old newspapers together. A perfect moment like realizing you're not alone in this world, not necessarily.

A perfect moment that was only perfect because of how imperfect it was, how ephemeral, how inconsequential, like singing along to songs you love in the shower and waking up to the sounds of the person you treasure most in this world or devouring a raspberry cheesecake.

That evening, as all evenings, wasn't perfect. In the moment, yes. It was. And they were happy and it felt like a fairytale bubble and Lydia's eyes were like the skylight and it was the perfect evening, crisp and dawning over them like rebirth – but later that night, they would fight, they would scream, they tear each other apart, a few days afterwards, a new big bad would come to town, two months later everything would be moderately calm again, a year after that and Spiderman wouldn't be so sure what he was fighting for anymore.

But all of that comes later.

Right now, in this perfect moment, everything was right in their world.

It would be a day they would talk to their grandchildren about.

It was like flying in a dream, but better.

That feeling of immortalness, youth a taste warm as strawberry milk down the throat, this terrifying sense of wonder and ease, that senseless day they drove off into the sunset together, and they got, at least momentarily, a happy ending.

{Then again, no happy ending lasts forever.}

- **THE END -  
**

* * *

 **This story was brought to you by Tons of Uncontained Stydia Feels.**


End file.
